Instead of taking a carriage, he walked There had been a change in the weather. The snow covered everything, and the grounds looked wintry and deserted. The gate was unlocked, but had not been opened lately, and Keith had hard work to open it wide enough to let himself through. He tramped along through the snow, and turning the curve in the road, was in front of the house. It was shut up. Every shutter was closed, as well as the door, and a sudden chill struck him. Still he went on; climbed the wide, unswept steps, crossed the portico, and rang the bell, and finally knocked. The sound made him start. How lonesome it seemed! He knocked again, but no one came. Only the snowbirds on the portico stopped and looked at him curiously. Finally, he thought he heard some one in the snow. He turned as a man came around the house. It was the old coachman and factotum. He seemed glad enough to see Keith, and Keith was, at least, glad to see him.
"It's a bad business, it is, Mr. Kathe," he said sadly.
"Yes, it is, John. Where is Miss Huntington?"
"Gone, sir," said John, with surprise in his voice that Keith should not know.
"Gone where?"
"An' that no one knows," said John.
"What! What do you mean?"
"Just that, sir," said the old fellow. "She went away two days after the funeral, an' not a worrd of her since."
"But she's at some relative's?" said Keith, seeking information at the same time he gave it.
"No, sir; not a relative in the world she has, except Mr. Wentworth in New York, and she has not been there."