“I would rather kill myself than think so,” said Arnold.

This talk, which had been interrupted by the course of the opera, was finished as they left their seats.  At the door, Mr. Gresham offered to help Caroline to her carriage.  Arnold walked away.

“I would kill myself, if I could fancy that Laura thought so,” he said, as he hurried home.

There was a cart at the door of the house, men carrying furniture on the stairs.  The doors of Mrs. Ashton’s rooms were wide-open; packing-paper and straw were scattered about.

“What is the matter?” he asked of his landlady.

“A gentleman has taken Mrs. Ashton’s rooms.  This is his grand piano.”

“Mrs. Ashton! where is she?” asked Arnold.

“She left this morning.  I should have been glad of further notice, but fortunately”—­

“Where have they gone?” interrupted Arnold.

“Home.  I don’t know where.  I can’t keep the run.”

“It is in New England.  Is there a directory of New England?”

“A directory of New England!  The names of its towns would make a large book!”

Arnold went to his room.  If he could only recall the name of the town near which Laura lived!  But American names had no significance.  In Germany each town had a history.  The small places were famous because they were near larger ones.  And even in the smallest some drop of blood had been shed that had given it a name, or had made its name noted.

She had gone; and why had she gone without telling him?

If he could only have heard Mrs. Ashton’s talk the evening before with her husband, he need not have asked the question.

“Do you know, dear, I think we had better leave New York directly,—­tomorrow?”

Mr. Ashton looked inquiries.

“I don’t like this intimacy with a foreigner.  He really has been very devoted to Laura.”

“And, pray, what is the harm?” asked Mr. Ashton.

“How can you ask?  A foreigner, and we know nothing about him,” answered Mrs. Ashton.

“But that he is the richest man in New York, quiet, inexpensive in his ways.”

“If we were sure of all that!  But I don’t think her father would like it.  I had a dream last night of Red Riding-Hood and the Wolf, and I haven’t thought all day of anybody but Laura.  We can get off early to-morrow.  I have sent Laura to pack her things now.”

“I’m afraid it is too late for her, poor girl!” said Mr. Ashton.

“She would be miserable, and her father would blame me, and I don’t like it,” said Mrs. Ashton.  “And I am tired of New York.”

“There’s your dentist,” suggested Mr. Ashton.

“I can come again,” answered his wife.

Arnold’s determination was made.  He would visit every town in New England; he would cross every square mile of her territory.  Of course he would find Laura.  Since he should not stop till he found her, of course he would find her before he stopped.