He remembered, at this moment, that none of the family had been at Ames & Harden's during the whole fall, and that he had not seen Miss Brandon since she and Mr. Irving had ridden down the lane for the flowers that Rose had forgotten to have ready at the usual hour. It so happened that, remembering the neglected flowers, why they had been forgotten, and how the negligence had been repaired, Dick's thoughts strayed from the graceful figure of the beautiful lady, who had seemed to him more magnificent and gentle than a vision, and turned to another figure, not tall nor stately—to another face, not grand nor graciously sweet.
But when he met Mr. and Mrs. Stoffs, almost the first words he said were,
"I went by the house on Fourteenth street to-day, and Mr. Brandon's name was off the door. I had not heard of their going away."
"It's long ago, though," said Mr. Stoffs.
"Is it any difficulty made them leave their old house?" asked Dick.
"There's been no end of difficulties," answered the German, puffing out great clouds of smoke between every sentence. "Things were bad enough last summer, and when Mrs. Brandon died—"
"Mrs. Brandon dead!" exclaimed Dick.
"Oh! I forgot that was after you left; it was quite an excitement. The horses ran away one night—those same stylish bays of which she was so proud—when she and her daughter were returning from some party, and she was dead before morning."
"And Miss Brandon?" Dick could hardly ask, his terror of the answer was so great.