“I must get into the fresh air,” he said.  “I am faint and weak.  I must have movement.  I must see my mother.  I will tell her everything.”  Then he went to his mirror, and looked with a grim smile at its reflection.  “I have the face of a lover kicked out of doors,” he continued scornfully.  He took but small pains with his toilet, and calling for some breakfast sat down to eat it.  Then for the first time in his life, he was conscious of that soul sickness which turns from all physical comfort; and of that singular obstruction in the throat which is the heart’s sob, and which would not suffer him to swallow.

“I am most wretched,” he said mournfully; “and no trouble comes alone.  Of all the days in all the years, why should Madame Jacobus have to take herself out of town yesterday?  It is almost incredible, and she could, and would have helped me.  She would have sent for Cornelia.  I might have pleaded my cause face to face with her.”  Then angrily—­” Faith! can I yet care for a girl so cruel and so false?  I am not to be pitied if I do.  I will go to my dear mother.  Mother-love is always sure, and always young.  Whatever befalls, it keeps constant truth.  I will go to my mother.”

He rode rapidly through the city and spoke to no one, but when he reached his Grandfather Van Heemskirk’s house, he saw him leaning over the half-door smoking his pipe.  He drew rein then, and the old gentleman came to his side: 

“Why art thou here?” he asked.  “Is thy father, or Lady Annie sick?”

“I know nothing new.  There was no letter yesterday.”

“Yesterday!  Surely thou must know that they are now at home?  Yesterday, very early in the morning, they landed.”

“My father at home!”

“That is the truth.  Where wert thou, not to know this?”

“I came to town yesterday morning.  I had a great trouble.  I was sick and kept my room.”

“And sick thou art now, I can see that,” said Madame Van Heemskirk coming forward—­“What is the matter with thee, my Joris?”

“Cornelia has refused me.  I know not how it is, that no woman will love me.  Am I so very disagreeable?”

“Thou art as handsome and as charming as can be; and it is not Cornelia that has said ‘no’ to thee, it is her father.  Now he will be sorry, for thy uncle is dead and thy father is Earl Hyde, and thou thyself art a lord.”

“I care not for such things.  I am a poor lord, if Cornelia be not my lady.”  “I wonder they sent not after thee!”

“They would be expecting me every hour.  If there had been a letter I should have gone directly back with it, but it was beyond all surmising, that my father should return.  Grandfather, will you see Doctor Moran for me?  You can speak a word that will prevail.”

“I will not, my Joris.  If thy father were not here, that would be different.  He is the right man to move in the matter.  Ever thou art in too much of a hurry.  Think now of thy life as a book of uncut leaves, and do not turn a page till thou hast read it to the very last word.”