accustomed to waiting on himself.

He broke the ice in his ewer, washed his face and hands, wiped and rubbed
them with a coarse, crash towel until they shone and glowed, then put on
his clothes, and hurried downstairs and into the bar.

There was no one in it at that hour but the bartender and a negro boy.

"Good-morning," said the former. "You are late this morning. Fatigued and
overslept yourself, perhaps."

"Yes. Did Col. Anglesea return last night?"

"He did. He came in about an hour after the house was closed. Pete opened
the door for him."

"And--where is he now? Can I see him at once, do you think?" eagerly
inquired Roland.

"I don't suppose you can see him at once, for Heaven only knows where he
is. He took breakfast at sunrise, and went off in a buggy, saying that he
should not return to-night."

"Oh-h-h-h!" exclaimed Roland, with a perfect howl of disappointment. "And
he has gone?"

"Yes, gone."

"Where? Where?"

"He did not say; so we do not know."

"When will he be back?"

"He said that he should not return to-night; further than that we do not
know."

"Oh, why did you not have me called? Why did you not detain him and send
for me?" demanded Roland, in the tone of a deeply injured individual.

"My dear fellow, I did not happen to see the colonel, or hear of him,
until after he was gone. The head waiter had charge of him, and gave the
message he left for the house," mildly pleaded the bartender.

"Oh-h-h! what a disappointment!" cried Roland, leaving the bar to go in
search of the head waiter.

He found that functionary in the public dining room, and questioned him
closely in regard to the movements of Col. Anglesea; but the head waiter
could only repeat the message left with him by the colonel; and this, of
course, threw no new light on the subject.

Roland went out and questioned the hostler, but the latter knew even less
than the others about the missing guest.

Finally Roland, in spite of his disappointment and anxiety, feeling the
keen hunger of a healthy youth, went in and sat down and ate a very hearty
breakfast.

Then he paid his bill and left the Calvert, leaving every one, from the
host to "boots," wondering what on earth the young man could have wanted
with the colonel, to have kept him waiting all night for him.

But, finally, some one remembered that Mr. Roland Bayard was mate of the
ship which had brought the colonel's forsaken wife--his first wife, as
they called her