The watchers seemed to "possess their souls" in patience, if not "in peace." There was really nothing to be done but to wait. There was no place where inquiries could be made. At this time of the year nearly all the fashionable world of London was out of town. Nor at any time had Salome any intimate acquaintances to whom she would have gone. Nor would it have been expedient just yet to apply to the detective police for help to search abroad for one who might of herself return home at any moment. The Duke of Hereward and Lady Belgrade could only wait it in terrible anxiety, though with outward calmness, for what the night might bring forth. But in what a monotonous and insensible manner all household routine continues, "in well regulated families," through the most revolutionary sort of domestic troubles. The first dinner bell had rung; but neither of the anxious watchers had even heard it. The groom of the chambers came in and lighted the gas in the drawing-rooms, and retired in silence. Still the watchers sat waiting in a state of intense, repressed excitement. The second dinner bell rang. And almost immediately the butler appeared at the door, and announced, with his formula: "My lady is served," and then: "Will your grace join me at dinner?" courteously inquired Lady Belgrade, thinking at the same time of the unparalleled circumstance of the bridegroom dining without his bride upon his wedding day--"Will your grace join me at dinner?" she repeated, perceiving that he had not heard, or at least had not answered her question. "I beg pardon. Pray, excuse me, your ladyship. I am really not equal--" "I see! I see! Nor am I equal to going through what, at best, would be a mere form," said her ladyship. Then turning toward the waiting butler, she said--"Remove the service, Sillery. We shall not dine to-day." The man bowed and withdrew. And the two watchers, whose anxiety was fast growing into insupportable anguish, waited still, for still, as yet, they could do nothing else but wait and control themselves. "Your grace has missed the last train," said Lady Belgrade, at length, as the little cuckoo clock on the mantel shelf struck ten. "Yes the night express leaves London Bridge station for Dover at ten-thirty, and it is a full hour's drive from Kensington," replied the duke. And both secretly thanked fortune that the wedding guests had all departed before the bride's mysterious absence from the house at such a time had become known; and they knew not but that "the happy pair had left by the tidal train for Dover, _en route_ for their continental tour,"--as per wedding programme. And both silently hoped that the household servants would not talk. The time crept wearily on. The clock struck eleven.