But he did not.
The sweet Sabbath day moved on slowly, with its services in the old church and its pleasant talk and society in the house; the Sunday school hours; the meeting old friends and acquaintances; but dinner and Sunday school were over, and nothing was heard of David Bartholomew.
"What has become of him?" said Mr. Richmond, as he and Matilda came in after Sunday school.
"What can have become of him, Mr. Richmond?" said Matilda.
"Nothing very bad," said Mr. Richmond, smiling at her distressed face. "Suppose we go and look him up?"
"Where would you go, Mr. Richmond? he has not been here since yesterday morning."
"I think I should try the hotel."
"Do you think he is there!—Shall we go?"
"I think we will," said Mr. Richmond; and hand in hand he and Matilda went down the street, to the corner. Just opposite, a little below, was the Shadywalk house of public entertainment.
Nobody knew David Bartholomew there by name. But in answer to Mr. Richmond's enquiries and description of him, the barkeeper stated that such a young gentleman had certainly come there the day before and was in Room No. 45. He had scarcely been seen since he entered the house, the man said; had refused almost everything that was offered him; but anyhow, he was there.