“Has he really reformed and become better?” thought Ellen, puzzled. She had never been used to such marks of attention from her husband. But he was in an amiable frame of mind. He had found a place of refuge till the next day, and then he would draw fifty dollars from his father—the first of many forced loans he promised himself.
He lounged away the rest of the day at his wife’s poor room. When the children came home from school he received them with boisterous good nature. They seemed afraid of him, remembering his severity in earlier days, but this only seemed to amuse him.
“That’s a pretty way to receive your loving father,” he said, laughingly. “Come here and sit on my knee, Mary.”
The little girl obeyed with scared face, because she did not dare to refuse lest she should anger her father. So the day passed. James Barclay lay in bed late next morning, but about eleven o’clock started for New York, to meet the appointment with his father.
A little before noon he ascended the staircase, and opened the door of the room which he had visited the day before.
It was empty!
His face darkened, and an unpleasant misgiving entered his mind.
He knocked at the door of the opposite room, which was opened by a woman.
“What has become of the old man who occupied the room opposite?” he asked.
“He has moved,” answered Mrs. Duane.