The grass all round about had been trodden down as if men had been engaged in deadly combat.
But nobody was found, nor the least vestige of clothing which might have directed any further search or led to the discovery of the unknown persons.
A few days afterwards, however, Ellen Harmer, feeling sore at heart, and fretful in mind, went across the fields and through Darlington Woods to visit Andrew’s mother, and to ascertain, if possible, whether she or her father could do any good for the poor widow and her demented son.
She arrived at the cottage, but no tidings had been heard of poor Andy, and his mother was well-nigh broken-hearted.
No one had seen or knew anything of the poor youth, either in or out of the village.
For a second time Ellen Harmer returned home.
The old widow offered to accompany her part of the way through the forest, but Ellen pleasantly declined.
As she journeyed through the wood slowly and thoughtfully, she heard voices near, and suddenly beheld a large encampment of gipsies.
“Perhaps this swarthy tribe might know or have heard something regarding poor Andrew,” thought Ellen. “I will question them.”
Boldly advancing right into the gipsy encampment, to the no small surprise of both men and women, Ellen walked up to a tall, swarthy-looking man who stood near a covered cart or waggon, and appeared to be the chief man among them.