ing-room. A slight, girlish figure was seated partly with her back to me. She sprang up when the door opened, and I was confronted by the anxious and pleading face of Mrs. Mainwaring.
"You have come at last," she said, with a deep sigh. "That is a blessed relief. I have waited for you here because I want to ask your advice. I am in terrible anxiety about my husband."
"Your husband?" I replied. "But I understood Dr. Abbott to say that he had recovered perfectly. He said he had ordered him for a month to the seaside, and then hoped that he might resume his professional work."
"It was so," she replied. "My husband had a quick recovery. I am told that most typhoid fever patients take a long time to regain their strength, but in his case this was not so. After the worst was over, he seemed to get better by strides and bounds. A fortnight ago Dr. Abbott ordered him to the seaside. I had a fancy for Dover, and thought of going there. I had even written about lodgings, when my husband suddenly told me that he did not wish to go to the seaside, and would prefer spending a fortnight amongst his old haunts at Cambridge. We went there. We—we were very happy. I left the children at home. It seemed something like our honeymoon over again. Yesterday morning I received a letter telling me that my eldest child was not well. I hurried back to Croydon to see her, telling my husband that I would rejoin him to-day. My child's illness turned out to be a trivial one, and I went back to Cambridge by an early train this morning."
Here Mrs. Mainwaring paused and pressed her hand to her heart. Her face, excessively pale before, now turned almost ghastly. She had seated herself; she now stood up, the further to emphasize her words.
"When I reached our lodgings," she said, "my landlady met me with the astounding intelligence that Mr. Mainwaring had packed up all his belongings and had left Cambridge for London by the express train that morning.
"This news surprised me, but at first I heard it calmly enough. I believed that Edward had grown weary of his own society, was anxious about our little Nancy, and had hurried home. My landlady, however, looked so mysterious that I felt certain she had something further to say.
"'Come in, madam, do come in,' she said. 'Perhaps you think your good gentleman has gone home.'
"'I am sure he has,' I said. 'Can you get me a messenger? I will send a telegram at once and find out. If Mr. Mainwaring has gone home, he ought to have arrived by now.'
"My landlady was quite silent for a minute, then she said, gravely:—
"'Perhaps I ought to tell you that Mr. Mainwaring behaved in a very singular way before he left my house.'
"There was something in the woman's manner which impressed me even more than her words. I felt my heart beginning to sink. I followed her into the little sitting-room where my husband and I had spent some happy hours, and begged of her to explain herself.
"She did so without a moment's hesitation.
"'It all happened early this morning,' she said. 'I brought up breakfast as usual. Mr. Mainwaring was standing by one of the open windows.
"'I am going to town,' he said, 'by the express. I shall pack my things immediately. Bring me my bill.'
"'I was leaving the room to prepare it, when he shouted to me.
"'How is it those things have got into the room?' he said. "Take them away.'
"'What things do you mean, sir?'
"'Those woman's things,' he said, very crossly. "That work-basket, and that white shawl.'
"'Why, sir,' I said, staring at him, 'those things belong to your good lady.'
"He looked me full in the face and then burst out laughing.
"'You must be mad,' he said; 'I dislike unseasonable jokes.'
"He then went into his bedroom and slammed the door noisily behind him. Half an hour later he had paid the bill, ordered a cab, and gone off with his luggage. He left all your things behind him, madam. Mr. Mainwaring was collected and quiet enough, and seemed quite the gentleman except when he spoke of you; still I don't like the look of affairs at all.'
"I listened to my landlady," continued poor Mrs. Mainwaring, "while she told me this strange and most perplexing story. Then I glanced round the room for confirmation of her words. Yes, my husband and all his belongings had vanished, but my work-basket, my new hat, my mantle, my writing-case, and one or two little garments which I was making for the children, were still scattered about the drawing-room.
"I went into the bedroom and saw the
