unnatural to him now to speak of her as Mrs. Holbrook.

"The lady and gentleman, sir!" the girl exclaimed with a surprised air.
"There's no one lodging here now. Mr. Nowell and his daughter left
yesterday morning."

"Left yesterday morning?"

"Yes, sir. They went away to Liverpool; they are going to America--to New
York."

"Mr. Nowell and his daughter, Mrs. Holbrook?"

"Yes, sir, that was the lady's name."

"It's impossible," cried Gilbert; "utterly impossible that Mrs. Holbrook
would go to America! She has ties that would keep her in England; a
husband whom she would never abandon in that manner. There must be some
mistake here."

"O no, indeed, sir, there's no mistake. I saw all the luggage labelled
with my own eyes, and the direction was New York by steam-packet
_Oronoco_; and Mrs. Holbrook had lots of dresses made, and all sorts of
things. And as to her husband, sir, her father told me that he'd treated
her very badly, and that she never meant to go back to him again to be
made unhappy by him. She was going to New York to live with Mr. Nowell
all the rest of her life."

"There must have been some treachery, some underhand work, to bring this
about. Did she go of her own free will?"

"O, dear me, yes, sir. Mr. Nowell was kindness itself to her, and she was
very fond of him, and pleased to go to America, as far as I could make
out."

"And she never seemed depressed or unhappy?"

"I never noticed her being so, sir. They were out a good deal, you see;
for Mr. Nowell was a gay gentleman, very fond of pleasure, and he would
have Mrs. Holbrook always with him. They were away in Paris ever so long,
in January and the beginning of February, but kept on the lodgings all
the same. They were very good lodgers."

"Had they many visitors?"

"No, sir; scarcely any one except a gentleman who used to come sometimes
of an evening, and sit drinking spirits-and-water with Mr. Nowell; he was
his lawyer, I believe, but I never heard his name."

"Did no one come here yesterday to inquire for Mrs. Holbrook towards
evening?"

"Yes, sir; there was a gentleman came in a cab. He looked very ill, as
pale as death, and was in a dreadful way when he found they were gone. He
asked me a great many questions, the same as you've asked me, and I think
I never saw any one so cut-up as he seemed. He didn't say much about that
either, but it was easy to see it in his face. He wanted to look at the
apartments, to see whether he could f