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--from California to Maryland, and that the same Mr. Roland Bayard had escorted the lady to the neighborhood, and had even introduced her to his own aunt, the good Miss Sibby Bayard, who had entertained the stranger without knowing who she really was, or what the nature of her business in the neighborhood might be.
Therefore, the gossips and wiseacres of the Calvert decided that young Roland Bayard must be a messenger from "his first wife."
Roland, meanwhile, unmindful of the discussion he had left behind him, sturdily strode on his way over the frozen highroad, under the winter sky, toward Greenbushes, to report to Leonidas Force.
Greenbushes was full five miles from Calvert's, so he walked on.
Leonidas Force, after leaving Forest Rest, put spurs to his horse and galloped all the way to Greenbushes, only pausing when it became necessary to open a gate that crossed the road, by which chance the hard-pressed steed got a moment in which to recover his wind.
When he reached Greenbushes, he sprang from his saddle, threw the bridle to a boy who came up to take the horse, and hurried into the house.
His colored housekeeper came to ask him if he was going to stay home all night, or to return to Mondreer, so that she might know whether she was to get supper, and to make a fire in his bedroom.
Le told her that he should stay at home all night.
The woman went away to attend to his comforts.
Le opened the door of that little, oak-paneled parlor on the right of the hall of entrance, where there was always a fire kept alive for the master, and a round table covered with account books, piles of paper, bundles of pens and bottles of ink.