Not pausing to indulge the emotions which these cruel words awoke, Vance went in search of Ripper & Co. The firm had been broken up more than ten years before. Not one of the partners was in the city. They had disappeared, and left no trace. Were any of their old account-books in the warehouse? No. The building had been burnt to the ground, and a new one erected on its site. “Where next?” thought Vance. “Plainly to Natchez, to see if I can learn anything of Davy and his wife.” CHAPTER XXV. MEETINGS AND PARTINGS. “I hold it true, whate’er befall,— I feel it when I sorrow most,— ’Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.” _Tennyson._ It being too late to take the boat for Natchez, Vance proceeded to the St. Charles. The gong for the fire o’clock ordinary had sounded. Entering the dining-hall, he was about taking a seat, when he saw Miss Tremaine motioning to him to occupy one vacant by her side. “Truly an enterprising young lady!” But what could he do? “I’m so glad to see you, Mr. Vance! I’ve not forgotten my promise. I called to-day on Mrs. Gentry,—found her in the depths. Miss Murray has disappeared,—absconded,—nobody knows where!” “Indeed! After what you’ve said of her singing, I’m very anxious to hear her. Do try to find her.” “I’ll do what I can, Mr. Vance. There’s a mystery. Of that much I’m persuaded from Mrs. Gentry’s manner.” “You mustn’t mind Darling’s notions on slavery.” “O no, Mr. Vance, I shall turn her over to you for conversion.” “Should you succeed in entrapping her, detain her till I come back from Natchez, which will be before Sunday.” “Be sure I’ll hold on to her.” Mr. Tremaine came in, and began to talk politics. Vance was sorry he had an engagement. The big clock of the hall pointed to seven o’clock. He rose, bowed, and left. “Why,” sighed Laura, “can’t other gentlemen be as agreeable as this Mr. Vance? He knows all about the latest fashions; all about modes of fixing the hair; all about music and dancing; all about the opera and the theatre; in short, what is there the man doesn’t know?” Papa was too absorbed in his terrapin soup to answer. Let us follow Vance to the little house, scene of his brief, fugitive days of delight. He stood under the old magnolia in the tender moonlight. The gas was down in Clara’s room. She was at the piano, extemporizing some low and plaintive variations on a melody by Moore, “When twilight dews are falling soft.” Suddenly she stopped, and put up the gas. There was a knock at her door. She opened it, and saw Vance. They shook hands as if they were old friends. “Where are the Bernards?” “They are out promenading. I told them I was not afraid.” “How have you passed your time, Miss Perdita?”