"Yes; and her evidence saved the prisoner's life, sir. I will tell you as briefly as I can."
He repeated what had taken place, and as he spoke, an expression of pity came over the handsome face of the listener.
"Poor child," he murmured to himself—"my brave, noble love! What was the young lady's name?" he asked, aloud.
"Vaughan, sir—I remember it well—Hyacinth Vaughan."
"Thank you," said the gentleman, remunerating his informant. "And now can you tell me where she is? Where did she go after the trial?"
"There are many who would like to know that, sir. Colonel Lennox has offered a hundred pounds to anyone who will bring him news of her. I should say every inch of ground in Loadstone had been searched over and over again."
Adrian Darcy—for it was he—looked at the man in bewildered surprise.
"You don't mean to tell me that she is lost?" he cried.
"She is indeed, sir. There have been advertisements, and rewards have been offered; but all has been in vain. The gentleman whose life she saved—Mr. Lennox—is almost wild about her disappearance. But, if you are interested in the case, read the report in the Loadstone Journal. It is a splendid one."
"Lost one!" repeated Adrian. "It is impossible! Oh, my darling, my child-like, innocent love, what terrible fate has befallen you?"