“And where were they going?” I asked of the sympathetic clerk, who seemed interested.

“Going South—­I don’t know where.  The elder lady seemed delicate, and the young lady quite anxious that she should stay here to-night and go on in the morning.  But no, she would go on to-night.”

I took the midnight train for Philadelphia.  They would surely not go farther to-night if Mrs. Sloman seemed such an invalid.

I scanned every hotel-book in vain.  I walked the streets of the city, and all the long Sunday I haunted one or two churches that my memory suggested to me were among the probabilities for that day.  They were either not in the city or most securely hid.

And all this time there was a letter in the New York post-office waiting for me.  I found it at my room when I went back to it on Monday noon.

It ran as follows: 

  “WESTMINSTER HOTEL.

“Very sorry not to see you—­Aunt Sloman especially sorry; but she has set her heart on going to Philadelphia to-night.  We shall stay at a private house, a quiet boarding-house; for aunt goes to consult Dr. R——­ there, and wishes to be very retired.  I shall not give you our address:  as you sail so soon, it would not be worth while to come over.  I will write you on the other side.

  B.S.”

Where’s a Philadelphia directory?  Where is this Dr. R——?  I find him, sure enough—­such a number Walnut street.  Time is precious—­Monday noon!

“I’ll transfer my berth to the Saturday steamer:  that will do as well.  Can’t help it if they do scold at the office.”

To drive to the Cunard company’s office and make the transfer took some little time, but was not this my wedding holiday?  I sighed as I again took my seat in the car at Jersey City.  On this golden Monday afternoon I should have been slowly coming down the Housatonic Valley, with my dear little wife beside me.  Instead, the unfamiliar train, and the fat man at my side reading a campaign newspaper, and shaking his huge sides over some broad burlesque.

The celebrated surgeon, Dr. R——­, was not at home in answer to my ring on Monday evening.

“How soon will he be in?  I will wait.”

“He can see no patients to-night sir,” said the man; “and he may not be home until midnight.”

“But I am an impatient,” I might have urged, when a carriage dashed up to the door.  A slight little man descended, and came slowly up the steps.

“Dr. R——?” I said inquiringly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Just one minute, doctor, if you please.  I only want to get an address from you.”

He scanned me from head to foot:  “Walk into my office, young man.”

I might have wondered at the brusqueness of his manner had I not caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the mantelshelf.  Dusty and worn, and with a keen look of anxiety showing out of every feature, I should scarcely have recognized myself.