There was no one in it at that hour but the bartender and a negro boy.
“Good-morning,” said the former. “You are late this morning. Fatigued and overslept yourself, perhaps.”
“Yes. Did Col. Anglesea return last night?”
“He did. He came in about an hour after the house was closed. Pete opened the door for him.”
“And—where is he now? Can I see him at once, do you think?” eagerly inquired Roland.
“I don’t suppose you can see him at once, for Heaven only knows where he is. He took breakfast at sunrise, and went off in a buggy, saying that he should not return to-night.”
“Oh-h-h-h!” exclaimed Roland, with a perfect howl of disappointment. “And he has gone?”
“Yes, gone.”
“Where? Where?”
“He did not say; so we do not know.”