St. Josephs felt in charity with all mankind, and returned to breakfast so light of heart that he ought to have known, under the invariable law of compensation, some great misfortune was in store.
He had little appetite; happiness, like sorrow, when excessive, never wants to eat; but he dressed himself again with the utmost care, and after exhausting every expedient to while away the dragging hours, started at half-past eleven for the abode of his ladye-love.
Do what he would, it was scarcely twelve when he arrived at her door, where his summons remained so long unanswered, that he had leisure to speculate on the possibility of Miss Douglas being indisposed and not yet awake. So he rang next time stealthily, and, as it were, under protest, but in vain.
The General then applied himself to the area bell. "They'll come directly, now," he argued; "they'll think it's the beer!" And sure enough the street-door was quickly unfastened, with more turning of keys, clanking of chains, and withdrawal of bolts than is usual during the middle of the season, in the middle of the day.
A very grimy old woman met him on the threshold, and peering suspiciously out of her keen, deep-set eyes, demanded his business in a hoarse voice, suggestive of gin.
"Miss Douglas b'aint here," was the startling answer to his inquiries. "She be gone away for good. Hoff this morning, I shouldn't wonder, afore you was out of bed."
"Gone!" he gasped. "This morning! Did she leave no message?"
"None that I knows of. The servants didn't say nothink about it; leastways, not to me."
"But she's coming back?"
"Not likely! The maid did suppose as they was a-going for good and all. It's no business of mine. I'm not Miss Douglas's servant. I'm a-taking care of the 'ouse for the landlord, I am. It's time I was a-tidying of it up now."