He slowly climbed the stairs toward his room, and passed the door of Harriet's on the way. It was open and he looked in expecting her to appear suddenly before him with a smile on her serene little face. He noted how neat and tidy she had left her nest; not a sign of confusion, the floor swept clean, everything in its place and the bed made with scrupulous care. The whole place breathed the perfume of her sunny character.
On the mantel he saw a love letter she had written to her father.
"How thoughtful of the little darling," he exclaimed. "God knows he'll need it to-night."
He hurried to his own room with the hope that she might have left one for him. He searched his mantel and bureau in vain and had just given up with a sigh when his eye rested on a card fastened over the old-fashioned grate in the fire place. His hand trembled as he read it:
"Dear Jim:
"I shall miss you dreadfully, in the strange world beyond the seas. When you sit here and look into your fire I hope you'll see the face of your little pal in the picture sometimes.
"Harriet."
He kissed the card and placed it in his pocket-book.
At night the doctor was not at home. He rapped on his door next morning and got no answer.
The girl said he had spent the night out—she didn't know where.