“I am afraid you will have to wait till we are in,” said the friendly officer.  “It will not be more than an hour now.”

Impelled by some faint hope that the Doctor’s name might have been omitted by some accident, the Duke rose and threaded his way among the crowding passengers, as they got their traps together and moved about the great saloons.  He pursued every tall man he saw, till he could catch a glimpse of his face.  At last he met a towering figure in a darkened passage way.

“My dear Claudius!” he cried, holding out his hand.  But the stranger only paused, muttered something about a “mistake” and passed on.  The excitement grew on the Duke, as it became certain that Claudius was not on board, and never in the whole of his very high and mighty life had he been in such a state of mind.  Some of the passengers noted his uneasy movements and exchanged remarks in an undertone, as he passed and repassed.

“He is probably crazy,” said an Englishman.

“He is probably drunk,” said an American.

“He is probably a defaulting bank cashier,” said a Scotchman.

“He looks very wild,” said a New York mamma.

“He looks very unhappy,” said her daughter.

“He is very well dressed,” said her son, who got his clothes half yearly from Smallpage.

But the time passed at last, and the great thing came up to her pier, and opened her jaws and disgorged her living freight down a steep plank on to dry earth again; and the Duke, with a final look at the stream of descending passengers, forced his way ashore, and jumped into the first cab he saw.

“Drive to the nearest Elevated station,” he shouted.

“Which avenue?” inquired the driver with that placidity which cabmen assume whenever one is in a hurry.

“Oh, any avenue—­damn the avenue—­Sixth Avenue of course!” cried the Duke in a stew.

“Very good, sir—­Sixth Avenue Elevated, did you say?” and he deliberately closed the door and mounted to his box.

“What shall I tell her—­what shall I say?” were the questions that repeated themselves with stunning force in his ear as he rattled through the streets, and slid over the smooth Elevated Road, swiftly towards his hotel.  He had still some few hundred yards to walk from the station when he got out.  His courage failed him, and he walked slowly, with bent head and heavy heart, the bearer of bad news.

Leisurely he climbed the steps, and the few stairs to his room.  There stood Lady Victoria under the gaslight, by the fire, looking at the clock.

“At last,” she cried, “how did you miss him?”

“Whom?” asked her brother dejectedly.

“Why, Claudius, of course!”

“Claudius is not come,” he said in a low voice.

“Not come?” cried Lady Victoria, “not come?  Why he has been here these two hours, with Margaret!”

The Duke was fairly overpowered and worn-out with excitement, and he fell back into a chair.