"Any sheets left hanging out of the lattice?"
"Sheets! No."
"'Then she did not go without help: somebody must have thrown up to her a rope-ladder; nothing so easy; done it myself scores of times for the descent of 'maids who love the moon,' Mr. Rugge. But at her age there is not a moon; at least there is not a man in the moon: one must dismiss, then, the idea of a rope-ladder,—too precocious. But are you quite sure she is gone? not hiding in some cupboard? Sacre! very odd. Have you seen Mrs. Crane about it?"
"Yes, just come from her; she thinks that villain Waife must have stolen her. But I want you, sir, to come with me to a magistrate."
"Magistrate! I! why? nonsense; set the police to work."
"Your deposition that she is your lawful child, lawfully made over to me, is necessary for the inquisition; I mean police."
"Hang it, what a bother! I hate magistrates, and all belonging to them. Well, I must breakfast! I'll see to it afterwards. Oblige me by not calling Mr. Waife a villain; good old fellow in his way."
"Good! Powers above!"
"But if he took her off, how did he get at her? It must have been preconcerted."
"Ha! true. But she has not been suffered to speak to a soul not in the company, Mrs. Crane excepted."