Albion Villa.
Next morning Edward Dodd was woke out of a sound sleep at about four o'clock, by a hand upon his shoulder: he looked up, and rubbed his eyes; it was Julia standing by his bedside, dressed, and in her bonnet. “Edward,” she said in a hurried whisper, “there is foul play: I cannot sleep, I cannot be idle. He has been decoyed away, and perhaps murdered. Oh, pray get up and go to the police office or somewhere with me.”
“Very well; but wait till morning.”
“No; now; now—now—now. I shall never go out of doors in the daytime again. Wait? I'm going crazy with wait, wait, wait, wait, waiting.”
Her hand was like fire on him, and her eyes supernaturally bright.
“There,” said Edward with a groan, “go downstairs, and I will be with you directly.”
He came down: they went out together: her little burning hand pinched his tight, and her swift foot seemed scarcely to touch the ground; she kept him at his full stride till they got to the central police station. There, at the very thought of facing men, the fiery innocent suddenly shrank together, and covered her blushing face with her hot hands. She sent him in alone. He found an intelligent superintendent, who entered into the case with all the coolness of an old official hand.
Edward came out to his sister, and as he hurried her home, told her what had passed: “The superintendent asked to see the letter; I told him he had taken it with him: that was a pity, he said. Then he made me describe Alfred to a nicety: and the description will go up to London this morning, and all over Barkington, and the neighbourhood, and the county.”
She stopped to kiss him, then went on again with her head down, and neither spoke till they were nearly home: then Edward told her “the superintendent felt quite sure that the villain was not dead; nor in danger of it.”
“Oh, bless him! bless him! for saying so.”