Well, friend, I must not believe you.  You’ll excuse me; but I must go up stairs myself.  And was stepping up.

John hereupon put on a serious, and a less respectful face—­Sir, this house is mine; and—­

And what, friend? not doubting then but she was above.—­I must and will see her.  I have authority for it.  I am a justice of the peace.  I have a search warrant.

And up I went; they following me, muttering, and in a plaguy flutter.

The first door I came to was locked.  I tapped at it.

The lady, Sir, has the key of her own apartment.

On the inside, I question not, my honest friend; tapping again.  And being assured, if she heard my voice, that her timorous and soft temper would make her betray herself, by some flutters, to my listning ear, I said aloud, I am confident Miss Harlowe is here:  dearest Madam, open the door:  admit me but for one moment to your presence.

But neither answer nor fluttering saluted my ear; and, the people being very quiet, I led on to the next apartment; and, the key being on the outside, I opened it, and looked all around it, and into the closet.

The mans said he never saw so uncivil a gentleman in his life.

Hark thee, friend, said I; let me advise thee to be a little decent; or I shall teach thee a lesson thou never learnedst in all thy life.

Sir, said he, ’tis not like a gentleman, to affront a man in his own house.

Then prythee, man, replied I, don’t crow upon thine own dunghil.

I stept back to the locked door:  My dear Miss Harlowe, I beg of you to open the door, or I’ll break it open;—­pushing hard against it, that it cracked again.

The man looked pale:  and, trembling with his fright, made a plaguy long face; and called to one of his bodice-makers above, Joseph, come down quickly.

Joseph came down:  a lion’s-face grinning fellow; thick, and short, and bushy-headed, like an old oak-pollard.  Then did master John put on a sturdier look.  But I only hummed a tune, traversed all the other apartments, sounded the passages with my knuckles, to find whether there were private doors, and walked up the next pair of stairs, singing all the way; John and Joseph, and Mrs. Smith, following me up, trembling.

I looked round me there, and went into two open-door bed-chambers; searched the closets, and the passages, and peeped through the key-hole of another:  no Miss Harlowe, by Jupiter!  What shall I do!—­what shall I do! as the girls say.—­Now will she be grieved that she is out of the way.

I said this on purpose to find out whether these people knew the lady’s story; and had the answer I expected from Mrs. Smith—­I believe not, Sir.

Why so, Mrs. Smith?  Do you know who I am?

I can guess, Sir.

Whom do you guess me to be?

Your name is Mr. Lovelace, Sir, I make no doubt.

The very same.  But how came you to guess so well, dame Smith!  You never saw me before, did you?