Miss Nugent was bitterly mortified by the action of Colonel Greyson. He had promised to call upon her mother, and instead had taken himself off, no one knew whither, and with him the secret of Sir Harold’s movements. He had not even troubled himself to write one word of explanation.
She had waited for whole days in miserable expectation, and then suddenly announced her determination of calling upon the colonel.
“You will come with me, mamma, dear. I believe that Colonel Greyson has news of Harold. He hinted as much to me at Lady Gaynor’s ball, and I am so anxious. It is not more than an hour’s drive to the colonel’s place.”
Mrs. Nugent rarely attempted to combat the wishes of her handsome daughter. She was one of those invalids who find pleasure in nursing their own ailments, and though it was a positive martyrdom to leave her lounge for several hours, to be jolted over miles of stony ground, she assented to the proposal with a long-drawn sigh of resignation.
The carriage was ordered, and immediately after lunch Mrs. Nugent and her daughter were driven to the colonel’s cottage at Crayford.
To Margaret’s dismay there was an air of desertion about the place, and she was informed by his house keeper that her master was going abroad for the autumn and winter.
“Then he has not yet gone?” asked Miss Nugent, with a gasp of relief.
“No, ladies; but his man is upstairs packing, and he knows more about it than I do.”
With a nod the woman ran into the house, and in a few minutes the colonel’s military manservant appeared, as straight and stiff as a ramrod.
“What is this I hear about the colonel, Simmons?” asked Miss Nugent.