Then they went down together, crossed the grounds, and entered the great hall, which was densely crowded. Good seats had been reserved for them, and they found themselves seated next the Dean of Olivet on Cora's right and the Wall street broker on Mr. Rockharrt's left.
I do not mean to trouble my readers with any description of this by-gone exhibition. They can read a full account of such every season in every morning paper. Merely to say that it was late in the afternoon when the exercises were over for the day.
Mr. Rockharrt and Cora Rothsay returned to the hotel to a very late dinner.
The first question that the Iron King asked was whether any telegram had come for him. He was told that there was none.
"It is very strange. She could not have received mine," he said, and he went directly to the telegraph office of the hotel and dispatched a long message to the clerk of the Blank House, telling him of how Mrs. Stillwater had been separated from her party by the pressure of the crowd, and how she had thereby missed their train, and inquiring whether she had returned to the hotel, whether she had got his message, and if she were well. Any news of her, or from her, was anxiously expected by her friends.
Having sent off this dispatch, Mr. Rockharrt went in to dinner. The dinner was long. The courses were many. Mr. Rockharrt and his granddaughter were still at table when the following telegram was placed in his hands:
Blank House, New York, May, 18—
Mrs. Stillwater is not here, and has not been seen by any of our people since she left the house with your party for the Hudson River Railway depot. We have made inquiries, but have no news.
M. Martin.