“We always felt for your uncle,” said old Lord Milworth, as he shook the young baronet heartily by the hand; “but, you see, he lived such a secluded life that we did not know him well enough to miss him. But you and your beautiful wife will be great acquisitions, Sir Lawrence, and I hope we shall shortly have the pleasure of welcoming you to Loamshire.” Sir Lawrence thanked him in suitable terms, and said he counted upon bringing Lady Gwendolyn to the Abbey in the course of a week or so, and this information pleased the old lord mightily, for he was a great admirer of the fair sex generally, and of Lady Gwendolyn in particular. But in spite of all the kind feeling that was shown him, Sir Lawrence was thankful when he found himself in the carriage that was to take him to the station. The Abbey seemed to him full of the gloom of death, and cast a chill over his warm, eager pulses. However, once on his way to Paris, he began to recover himself. When he reached town, he had only just time to drive from one station to the other, but by promising the cabman double fare, he managed to catch his train, and was soon speeding toward Dover, picking up his spirits gradually as he went along. He reached Paris at about six o’clock in the morning, and drove straight to his hotel. Much as he longed to see his wife, and clasp her once more in his arms, he was too unselfish to disturb her at such an early hour, and, ordering another room, he lay down and tried to sleep for awhile. But he found this to be out of the question, and soon rose and dressed himself. Precisely as the clock struck nine--not a minute before--he knocked softly at the door of his wife’s bedroom, and, receiving no answer, he went in on tiptoe, enjoying the anticipation of waking her with a kiss. But a sudden prophetic chill crept over him when he perceived that the bed was empty. There where he had last seen his wife’s fresh, flowerlike face was a large pink _edredon_, such as Othello might have used to smother Desdemona. He tossed it over, thinking that, maybe, she had hidden herself beneath it in order to give him a little surprise in her turn; but as there was no sign of her or her belongings anywhere, he went back into the salon, and rang the bell, as if he would ring it down. The garçon came up running. Sir Lawrence asked if miladi had changed her room, at which Francois stared in amazement. “Changed her room?” he repeated. “Why, she is gone!” “Where?” “Miladi did not say, monsieur; and it was not our affair to inquire. We thought she had left to join monsieur.” “Are there any letters for me?” demanded Sir Lawrence, putting his hand to his heart, as if he had received a sudden blow. “Yes, monsieur, there is one for you, and also several for miladi. We gave them in charge of the manager directly they arrived.”