“Miss Plympton was down to Camden three or four days ago, and she said Ann Merrills, the chambermaid at the Stafford House, told her Ethelyn had come to Olney to stay with us while you was away; but she must have gone somewhere else, as we have not seen her here.  Gone to visit that Miss Amsden, most likely, that lives over the creek.”

“What makes you think she has gone there?” Richard asked, with a sudden spasm of fear, for which he could not account, and which was not in any wise diminished by his mother’s reply:  “Ann said she took the six o’clock train for Olney, and as Miss Amsden lives beyond us, it’s likely she went there, and is home by this time.”

Richard accepted this supposition, but it was far from reassuring him.  The load he had felt when he first came into the kitchen was pressing more and more heavily, and he wished that he had gone straight on instead of stopping at Olney.  But now there was nothing to do but to wait with what patience he could command until the next train came and carried him to Camden.

It was nine o’clock when he reached there, and a stiff northeaster was blowing down the streets with gusts of sleet and rain, but he did not think of it as he hurried on toward the Stafford House, with that undefined dread growing stronger and stronger as he drew near.  He did not know what he feared, nor why he feared it.  He should find Ethie there, he said.  She surely had returned from her visit by this time; he should see the lights from the windows shining out upon the park, just as he had seen them many other nights when hastening back to Ethie.  He would take the shortest route down that dark, narrow alley, and so gain a moment of time.  The alley was traversed at last, also the square, and he turned the corner of the street where stood the Stafford House.  Halting for an instant, he strained his eyes to see if he were mistaken, or was there no light in the window, no sign that Ethie was there.  There were lights below, and lights above, but the second floor was dark, the shutters closed, and all about them a look of silence and desertion, which quickened Richard’s footsteps to a run.  Up the private staircase he went, and through the narrow hall, till he reached his door and found it locked.  Ethie was surely gone.  She had not expected him so soon.  Mrs. Amsden had urged her to stay, and she had stayed.  This was what Richard said, as he went down to the office for the key, which the clerk handed him, with the remark:  “Mrs. Markham went to Olney the very day you left.  I thought perhaps you would stop there and bring her home.”

Richard did not reply, but hurried back to the darkened room, where everything was in order; even Ethie’s work-box was in its usual place upon the little table, and Ethie’s chair was standing near; but something was missing—­something besides Ethie—­and its absence made the room look bare and strange as the gas-light fell upon it.  The piano was gone or moved.  It must be the latter, and Richard looked for it in every corner, even searching in the bedroom and opening the closet door, as if so ponderous a thing could have been hidden there!  It was gone, and so was Ethie’s trunk, and some of Ethie’s clothes, for he looked to see, and then mechanically went out into the hall, just as Mr. Bailey came upstairs and saw him.