But now, at last, with a smile at her qualms and nervous tremors, she knocked resolutely. There was a little interval before the knock was answered, and she filled it with hope. She knew just how radiant she would feel as she came away successful. She experienced something of the relief and pleasure which should follow upon this pain, and then the door was opened by the Tenor's elderly housekeeper. The woman had that worn and worried look upon her face which is common among women of her class.
"Is your master at home?" Angelica asked, not recollecting for the moment by what name he was known.
The woman looked at her curiously, as if to determine her social status before she committed herself. The question seemed to surprise her.
"He's gone," she answered dolefully. "Didn't you know?"
"Gone," Angelica echoed blankly. "Where?"
"Gone home," the woman answered.
"Gone home!" Angelica exclaimed, unable to conceal her dismay. "He has no home but this. Where is his home?"
The woman gave her another curious look, took a moment to choose her words, then blurted out: "He's dead, miss—didn't you know—and buried yesterday."
CHAPTER IV.
The lonely man, after leaving Angelica that night, had returned to the Close, walking "like one that hath aweary dream." When he entered his little house, and the sitting room where the lamp was still burning, its yellow light in sickly contrast to the pale twilight of the summer dawn which was beginning to brighten by that time, the discomfort consequent on disorder struck a chill to his heart.