His two friends prevailed upon him to remain in New York a week at least, pending their investigation, and to go to the old humble room which he used to share with them in the days when money was at a premium with him. The next morning his two tried and true friends parted early from him, arranging to meet him at the same hour, and at the same restaurant, suggesting that they might have something of importance to communicate. To John Dinsmore it seemed as though six o’clock, the hour appointed, would never come; he spent the time in walking up and down the streets, vainly searching for Jess, even in the face of the fact that her letter had said that she intended going far away from the metropolis. Never before had he realized how intensely he loved little Jess, and what a blank his life would be without her. And then and there it occurred to him how utterly devoid of good judgment he must have been in those days to allow himself to be carried away with so shallow and utterly false and heartless a creature as Queenie Trevalyn, whom he now abhorred, and whom he knew as she really was--at last. He said to himself that sometimes God blesses us in denying us that which we believe our greatest good, but which would only have turned out to be our greatest misfortune. All that day the two friends, spurred on by John Dinsmore’s recital, worked zealously over the plan which they had mapped out for themselves to discover the whereabouts of Jess, the fair young bride. On the occasion of their former visit to the house of the old miser’s widow, the young artist had made quite a favorable impression upon one of the maids of the household; they decided to make use of that state of affairs now. And under pretext that the paper wanted another statement of the facts, they again presented themselves at the home of young Mrs. Brown. To their relief that lady was out; but that did not prevent them from lingering and having nearly an hour’s chat with the loquacious maid. A few ingenious remarks led the conversation around to the beautiful young girl, who had until so lately been a guest beneath that roof, as they phrased it. “Gone from here!” echoed the girl. “Why, it is strange that I did not hear something of it; still, it may be, as I have been away--calling upon a sick relative--since late yesterday afternoon. I just came back less than ten minutes before you came. I had not even had time to take my bonnet upstairs when you rang the bell.” Jerry Gaines was for not prolonging the interview, though they had gleaned many startling facts from this casual conversation, but something seemed to impel the young artist to question her still further on the subject of the beautiful stranger guest of young Mrs. Brown--if she had a lover, and if he ever called, and how often?