Seven by the big clock over the stationer’s shop; and still no sign of them. Clearly they were not coming to any restaurant hereabouts. So at length he left East Street, and went down to the King’s-road, and wandered slowly along, glancing furtively into this or that hotel—especially where some coffee-room window happened to have been left with the blind up. It was a vain quest, and he was aware of it; but something, he knew not what, drew him on. And meanwhile his mind was busy with pictures—of a private room, and flowers, and three figures seated at table. _Ach weh! mein Liebchen war die Braut!_ At a quarter to eight, Lord Musselburgh was shown into Mrs. Ellison’s drawing-room. "Haven’t you seen anything of Vin?" she said, with astonished eyes. "No—nor you?" "Nothing at all—and now he won’t have time to dress for dinner." "I shouldn’t wonder if he did not turn up for dinner," Musselburgh said. "Something very peculiar happened to him to-day—I could not precisely gather what—but he was obviously upset." "Yes," said Mrs. Ellison, and her face was graver than its wont. "Something has indeed happened to him to-day—though he himself is not aware of it as yet." She went to a little cabinet, and took from it two letters. "I thought you ought to see both of these," said she. "One is from my brother-in-law; I got it just a minute or two after you left. The other is my answer; I will have it posted as soon as you have read it." He took the first letter, which was from Vincent’s father, and read it carefully through, without a word of comment. Then he took the other, which ran as follows:— "DEAR HARLAND, "It is very terrible; but I half suspected as much; and terrible as it is there is nothing to be done but to tell Vin the whole truth, and at once. Telegraph for him to-morrow morning—on business of importance; if he wants to come down again, I shall be ready with such consolation as I can think of. I fancy from one or two things that those people are here in Brighton just now: all the more reason why you should summon him home at once. Poor boy, it will be a sad awakening. But he is young; he will get over it; and perhaps be none the worse in the end for this cruel experience of the deceit and wickedness of the world. Let me know how he takes it. "Yours affectionately, "MADGE." No, Vincent did not come in to dinner that evening. He was still walking up and down the King’s-road, glancing now and again, but with a sort of hopelessness, at any little group of people that might appear at the hall-door of this or that hotel; and all the while there was a fire eating at his heart. CHAPTER VI. PUT TO THE PROOF.