CHAPTER XXII.
A HOUSE OF MOURNING—HARVEY'S RESOLVE—A TIME OF TROUBLE.
"Horrible!" cried Jefferson; "horrible!"
Dismay and terror were on every face.
The dreadful news paralysed their movements, and rendered them momentarily helpless.
Dick Harvey was the first to break the silence.
He sprang to his feet, and made for the grounds, motioning the others to follow him.
"Let us try and catch the postman," he exclaimed; "if we get hold of him, we may learn something worth knowing."
"Bravo!" responded Jefferson; "a capital idea."
They were flying all over the grounds immediately.
But the result may be guessed in advance.
Not a sign was there of the bearer of this alarming letter.
They gave up the search only when there was not the faintest vestige of a hope left, and crestfallen and disappointed, they returned to the house.
"Come," said Dick to the bold American; "we must move; we must be stirring."
"What for?"
"For several reasons," replied Dick, "but firstly for the purpose of giving Jack something to do. It will never do to let a man in his condition brood."
They sought poor Harkaway again, and led him off to hold a consultation.
"Jack," said Harvey, brusquely, "you must not give way to despondency. I say positively, must not. You will certainly undermine your health."
"Do not fear for me, Dick," returned Harkaway, "I shall be better for a little quiet."
"Indeed you'll not. Besides, it is not just to the boys."
Harkaway's lips quivered, and a big lump rose in his throat.
He swallowed it with considerable difficulty, and silently wrung Dick's hand.
"Don't, don't, old friend," he faltered, in a broken-hearted voice. "I can't bear the mention of their names. Poor boys! poor boys!"
"But you must," insisted Harvey. "I don't mean to leave them in the lurch."
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. We must not give up the search."
"Ah, Dick, you would persuade me, if you can't persuade yourself."
"You are wrong," replied Harvey. "I have the deepest conviction on the point."
"To what effect?"
"That they live—both live."
Jack Harkaway looked positively frightened at this reply.
"Dick, Dick," he exclaimed, mournfully, "what are you saying, old friend?"
"What I mean. They yet live," returned Harvey boldly.
"No, no."
"But I say, yes, yes."
"I should rather say that they were murdered long before we received their last message."
"Come, come, Jack," he said; "rouse yourself, man. Whatever can make you believe this to be true?"
"The letter."
Dick laughed at this.
"That is the very first thing to raise my doubts," replied Dick. "Why, we have known Hunston all his life, and never found him any thing but the most notorious liar."
"True; but—"
"He told lies as a boy—lies as a youth—lies as a man. His life has been one long lie, and yet you choose to make yourself wretched and all of us too upon the strength of such a vagabond's word. Bah!"
Harkaway hung his head and sighed.
"That is not all, Dick," he said; "I have the direst presentiment upon me—"
"Presentiment!" ejaculated Dick, interrupting him.
"Well, Jack, I will not quarrel with you about presentiments, since I am urged on to what I am about to say and do by presentiments—only my presentiments are of the most hopeful description."
"Dick," said Harkaway, looking him straight in the face, "you are trying to deceive me."
"I swear I am not," retorted Harvey, with warmth. "And you shall soon see whether or not I am in earnest."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I am going to fetch the boys."
"What wildness are you talking, Dick? What is this?"
"Simply that to-morrow at daybreak I shall start off on the search."
"Whither?"
"To the mountains."
Harkaway looked frightened at this.
"Not to trust yourself in the brigands' clutches?"
"I mean to beard the tigers in their lair," echoed Dick firmly; "not a word, Jack," he added, as he saw Harkaway about to interrupt him, "not a word; the worthy Richard Harvey will not go, but his spirit in another skin will go."
"You are never going to trust yourself in a disguise."
"I am."
"Why, Dick, old friend, were you that unhappy man Protean Bob himself, Hunston would penetrate your disguise; the eye of hate—"
"Nonsense. If I were Protean Bob, Hunston would be too glad not to recognise me."
"Perhaps."
"Now, Jack, you must listen to me, and not give advice. My determination is taken; nothing can shake it. Hilda and the family generally must suppose that I have gone to the port to arrange about our departure, since they all appear to be so thoroughly bent upon leaving here."
"But they will never believe a word about it."
"That I can not help, but at all events I leave here to-morrow, at daybreak, and may the shade of one of their victims aid me to throw dust in the eyes of Hunston and the Italian villain Toro."
"Amen," said Harkaway, seriously.
* * * * *
Surely enough, at daybreak, someone set forth from the villa, but although we who are behind the scenes can give a shrewd guess at who it was, the early wanderer looked about as unlike Dick as you could well imagine.
Was it indeed Dick?