"I don't think Miss Dalzell has returned," said the man, innocently. "She only went out a few minutes since!" Dalby started, but Juvenal was quite composed. "You must be mistaken, Willis," he said. "Miss Dalzell is in her room. You probably saw one of the other ladies. Send Mrs. Gillett at once."
"Oh, dear me! no, sir," responded the man. "I couldn't mistake my mississes for Miss Minnie; she passed me in the hall with her bonnet on, and said in her kind way, 'How d'ye do, Willis?' and I was so glad to see her about again, that I watched her through the gardens."
"Why the deuce didn't you mention this before?" exclaimed Dalby, alarmed. He was the first to recover himself.
"Well, sir," answered the man, trembling, "I thought master knew it. 'Twasn't for me to speak."
"There's something wrong," cried Juvenal, tumbling over Dalby's chair in his hurried rush towards the door. The other was half-way up-stairs, muttering a deep oath. If Minnie were lost to his master Marmaduke Burton, then would he be doubly a fool, having lost a good chance with the girl, backed as he had been by Sylvia; and of course he should be disgraced with the other.
By this time the house was alarmed—Dorcas stood very pale, clasping her cold hands together—Sylvia wouldn't believe it possible—and poor Mrs. Gillett was lamenting loudly, as Juvenal with trembling hands opened the door. There still was hope, for the door was well locked. All rushed in in a body: every thing was as we have seen it, but Minnie—the dinner untouched. How had she escaped? Not by the window, surely? No, that could not be. Willis had met her in the passage, and 'twas this unexpected meeting which had made her go round by the gardens instead of the shrubbery. This was the only hour in which Miles saw a chance for her escape, while all were at table. 'Twas a bold stroke; but it had succeeded, like many a daring deed.
"Gillett, you know something of this!" cried Sylvia, turning towards her. Dorcas couldn't speak; she was crying bitterly; she guessed the truth. "No, as I hopes for marcy!" exclaimed the housekeeper; "I know nothing of it. I brought up her dinner, which you see, and she fell a-crying, and seemed quite down-hearted. Oh, dear! oh, dear! what was it she said, now?" and she tapped her forehead; "she told me to remind you all of such a many things, and to think I should forget every one on 'em!"
"Where could she have found a key?" asked Juvenal, suspiciously.
"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Gillett, "here's mine," and she turned the lock with it. Suddenly it flashed across her mind, the confusion of keys in her room the night Juvenal came down, and Minnie and Miles were concealed. She said nothing; but felt perfectly convinced that one of them had taken a key away. At last, some one suggested that she was perhaps in the gardens. No one save Dorcas guessed the whole truth. Juvenal and Sylvia felt certain she would be found. Dalby thought so, too. Where could she go? Gillett was too much puzzled to think. Only Dorcas knew in her heart, that Miles was the instigator and partner of her flight. All her thoughts now were, not to find her; she felt that with a man so determined to organize, she was off and gone, but to secure her happiness, and, if possible, bring all to a happy termination and reconciliation. Gardens were searched—the house—grounds—all; but not a trace remained—then the village. At last a lad was found who had stood gaping at the chaise and posters in the lane, till the gentleman and lady stepped in and "driv away;" so there was no longer room to doubt. Dalby, hot with rage and disappointment, traced them to the railroad, three miles distant, whence he and Juvenal started off in pursuit.
The chaise which was to have carried off their victim, helped them on their errand—a rather galling reflection; for both Tremenhere and his bride were away, and away, miles before them; they had neither of them time to reflect on plans, on the future, which lay before them coiled like a serpent, and perhaps as much to be dreaded. On they flew, and, as the train stopped at each station, Minnie's heart sunk within her, dreading somehow to see her uncle there, awaiting her; and in agony, she clung to Miles, whose gentlest tones soothed the fair thing beside him, with her already sorrowing, but not repenting head, hidden in his bosom. At length the term of their journey drew to a close, they passed the Border—with every moment now, her terror, and his anxiety, grew apace. She could scarcely articulate; and, when a sudden whistle or stoppage occurred, a scream involuntarily burst from her very soul; for the lip was but the channel of utterance. But the Border was passed—the train and its many alarms was left behind their flying steps, and they stood side by side in a small room, awaiting the professional officiator in such cases—clergyman, he cannot be called. Minnie looked round, and felt how little idea of so sacred a tie as marriage, that little, low room gave you. She turned timidly to Miles, who was gazing impatiently at the door—she drew near him.