He had grown almost cheerful by the time he had reached the hotel. "After all, it was dull enough at Woodlea," he was reflecting; "and I can't quite understand Mrs. Temple's attitude. We shall be happier out of it all; out of civilization for awhile--I think I shall like a different life." He soon arrived at the hotel, paid his cab fare, and then ran lightly up the staircase, after giving May's portmanteau to one of the waiters to carry. He knew the number of the sitting-room where he had left May, as he was well-acquainted with the hotel, and when he reached the door he opened it without rapping. One glance round the room told him it was empty. But this did not make him uneasy. "She has been too tired to sit up," he thought, "and has gone to bed," and he turned round to the waiter who was following him with the portmanteau and asked the number of the bedroom he had engaged. The man told him, and John Temple took the portmanteau from his hand and went in the direction the waiter indicated. When he arrived at the bedroom door he rapped, but there was no answer. Then he opened the door and went in, but, like the sitting-room, he found it empty. "You have made a mistake; this is not the room," he said, sharply, to the waiter, who was still following him. "Yes, sir, this is the bedroom you engaged," replied the waiter. "But the lady--my wife is not here?" "No, sir; the lady in sitting-room No. 11 left the hotel some time ago." "Left the hotel!" repeated John Temple, blankly. "Are you sure of this?" "Yes, sir; I saw her go down the staircase and go out. I felt sure it was the lady from No. 11, as, if you remember, I lit the room after the lady took ill? And I fetched the doctor up for her also." A strange, cold feeling crept into John Temple's heart. "And you saw her go out?" he repeated. "Yes, sir; and as she passed through the hall I asked her if she required a cab." "And did you get her one?" interrupted John, hastily. "No, sir; she just shook her head and went out; and you'll excuse me, sir, mentioning it, but I thought the lady looked very ill." "Went out alone! I can not understand it!" exclaimed John Temple; and then he once more entered the bedroom and looked around. Could she have left some letter, some message, he was thinking. But there was nothing; no sign that she had been there. After this he went back to the sitting-room, and here he found May's cape lying on the floor. He had unfastened it when she had fainted, and flung it over the end of a couch. But her hat was gone! The poor girl, in her despair, had never remembered her cape, and as John Temple lifted it up a sudden fear, a sudden anguish, struck his soul. "Had she left him?" he was asking himself, with white lips. "But surely not without some word, some line."