"She was gone!"
"Gone?"
"Yes. She had gone the day before my arrival. She had written again, and had telegraphed. She had then set out, expecting me to receive her with all a lover's eagerness at Barcelona, at the hotel which I had mentioned to her in my last letter, and hoping also that I might possibly turn up at any station after passing the Pyrenees. What do you think of that? Wasn't that a blow? And was it my fault?"
"Certainly not," said Katie, in a soothing voice. "Not your fault, only your misfortune. But what did her friends say?"
"Her friends? Oh, they were awfully indignant, of course, but I couldn't wait to explain it all to them. The moment I found out how it was, I turned on my heel and hurried back to Barcelona. I travelled night and day. I got there without any interruption, and rushed to the hotel where, according to my direction, she was to have gone."
"Well," asked Katie, as Harry paused, "was she there?"
"No," said Harry; "but, worst of all, she had been there! Yes, she had been there. She had made the journey; she had reached Barcelona; and I—I, for whom she had come, I was not there to meet her. Well, when I did get back she was gone."
"Gone?—gone where?"
"Why, where else could she have gone but home again?"
"True. Being a girl of spirit, she never could stand such treatment as that. But did she leave no message for you?"