It seemed to him that the very force of his longing must bring them together at last. And so, perhaps, it did; but not as he had pictured and hoped. It was the seventh day after his parting from Lady Gwendolyn, and, mindful of his appointment with Mrs. O’Hara, Colonel Dacre slept in town overnight, and proceeded to the “Langham” at eleven o’clock the next morning. After making due inquiries, he found that the widow was not there, neither had the manager any letter from her. As that was the case, he left the hotel, saying he would call again later; and in the evening he presented himself again. This time he obtained more satisfaction. A young lady had just arrived, who had given this name, one of the waiters told him, and had a sitting-room and bedroom adjoining, on the first floor, Nos. 5 and 6. With the aid of an obliging and comely chambermaid, Colonel Dacre found himself at No. 5 presently, and tapping lightly with his knuckles on the door, received a soft summons to enter. It was nearly dusk now, and he could not see very plainly, still it struck him that the outline of Mrs. O’Hara’s figure had grown very slender in the past week to anything he could remember it these last ten years. Nevertheless, he said, with assurance: “I was quite afraid I should miss you, after all, Norah. This is the second time I have been to the ‘Langham’ to-day.” “I am sorry you should be disappointed a second time also,” answered a voice as cold as ice. “Mrs. O’Hara?” said Colonel Dacre, half inquiringly, half apologetically. “I am afraid I must have made some mistake.” And he peered forward to obtain a glimpse of the face that was purposely concealed from him. At this moment a hand touched his shoulder from behind. “Here I am, Lawrence. Have you been waiting long?” “But surely there must be some mistake. They told me this was the room Mrs. O’Hara had ordered.” She turned to the waiter, who had followed her and was about to light the gas. “Didn’t you tell me this was the sitting-room Mrs. O’Hara had ordered?” “Yes, ma’am.” “But it is already occupied.” He stared stupidly at the shrinking figure near the fireplace, and then a bright idea seemed to strike him. “Perhaps there’s two Mrs. O’Hara’s, ma’am.” “I never thought of that; but it isn’t a common name,” replied the widow, with suppressed impatience. “Go and inquire about it, will you?” “Shall I light the gas first, ma’am?” “Certainly,” interposed Colonel Dacre, for, although he had not recognized the voice, it had left a strange feeling of expectancy behind, and he longed to see the face to which it belonged. Mrs. O’Hara was simply curious, while her namesake, seeing, no doubt, that escape was impossible, faced her tormentors boldly, like a hunted animal brought to bay.