He would follow her as soon as he possibly could. Dear little Doris! How glad she would be that he had not taken her at her word, if indeed she had sent him that cruel message! How devoted she would think him to follow her at once! How much comforted she would be to receive the protestations of unchanging, nay, more, increasing love! Time seemed to drag with leaden wings, until what he thought a decent hour for calling upon Doris began to approach. Then he took a hansom in a hurry, bidding the cabman drive to Earl’s Court Square as fast as he could. It was scarcely ten o’clock when he stood at the great door of the house in Earl’s Court Square, touching the electric button, and waiting in breathless suspense for the door to open. No one answered his summons for quite five minutes--which seemed an eternity to him--then the door slowly opened, and a lad in plain livery stood before him. "Is Miss Anderson in?" inquired Bernard. "Miss Anderson, sir?" asked the page slowly. "Yes, Miss Anderson. Has she not arrived?" "No, sir. I don’t know whom you mean, sir. There is no one here of that name." Then Doris had not arrived! It was a great blow to poor Bernard. "Can I see Miss Earnshaw?" he asked at length. "No, sir. You can’t, sir. She is dead." "Dead?" "Yes, sir. She died suddenly yesterday of heart disease. Very sudden it was, sir." Dead! Miss Earnshaw! Then what had become of Doris? "Are you quite sure that a young lady did not come here in the early hours of this morning?" asked Bernard, slipping a coin into the youth’s hand. The touch of silver seemed to quicken the latter’s memory. "I was in bed, sir. But if you wait here I will ask Mr. Giles, the butler," he said, inviting Bernard into the hall and going in search of the information he needed. Presently he returned with a deferential butler, who said to Bernard: "There was a young lady came to this house in a hansom, sir, about one o’clock this morning. She wanted Miss Earnshaw, and seemed terribly cut up to find she was dead. She saw Mr. Earnshaw, Miss Earnshaw’s distant cousin, who inherits everything. But I think he couldn’t do anything for her, sir, for she went away in great trouble." "Where is Mr. Earnshaw?" demanded Bernard excitedly. "He went off by an early train to Reigate, where he lives. He won’t return until the day of the funeral." "When will that be?" "Day after to-morrow." "Give me his address. I must wire to him!" exclaimed Bernard. "Did you observe whether the lady went away in a cab or walked?" The butler had not noticed the manner of her departure, nor had any one else in the house. All the inquiries Bernard made--and they were many--resulted in nothing. Doris had vanished as completely as it was possible for any one to vanish in our great and crowded metropolis.