“Please, sir, missis said she thought it was true, ‘cause he had a carpet-bag,” returned the young servant.
Mr. Galloway stared at the child. “You go round at once to Lady Augusta’s,” said he, “and ask what Mr. Yorke means by being so late. I desire that he will come immediately.”
The child flew off, and Mr. Galloway, hardly knowing what to make of matters, proceeded to do what he ought to have found done. He and Jenkins had duplicate keys to the desks, letter-box, etc. Since Jenkins’s illness, his keys had been in the possession of Roland.
Presently the child came back again.
“Please, sir, her ladyship’s compliments, and Mr. Roland have gone to Port Natal.”
The consternation that this would have caused Mr. Galloway, had he believed it, might have been pitiable. An intimation that our clerk, who was in the office last night, pursuing his legitimate work, has “gone to Port Natal,” as we might say of some one who goes to make a morning call at the next door, is not very credible. Neither did Mr. Galloway give credence to it.
“Did you see her ladyship?” he asked.
“Please, sir, I saw one of the servants, and she went to her ladyship, and brought out the message.”
The young messenger retired, leaving Mr. Galloway to his fate. He persisted in assuming that the news was too absurd to be correct; but a dreadful inward misgiving began to steal over him.
The question was set at rest by the Lady Augusta. Feeling excessively vexed with Roland for not having informed Mr. Galloway of his intended departure—as from the message, it would appear he had not done—she determined to go round; and did so, following closely on the heels of the maid. Her ladyship had already wonderfully recovered her spirits. They were of a mercurial nature, liable to go up and down at touch; and Hamish had contrived to cheer her greatly.