'I thought she was up-stairs.'

'No—no one came in before Angela,' testified Wilmet. 'Is every one else here?—Bernard?'

'He must be sheltering down by Lang's pool. Never mind him! But she! So afraid of thunder too!'

'Unpardonable!' burst out Felix, in dismayed self-condemnation, as he again pushed his head as deep as it would go into his hat, and hurried out again, Clement and William after him; John was going too, but his wife caught him—'No, no, there are quite enough! Remember the neuralgia. See, it has turned to pouring rain!'

And John submitted, for three strong men could do all that could avail one young girl, even under possibilities terrible to think, not only from the lightning, but among those dangerous places, steep slopes, and sharp precipices, where a stranger, blinded by hail and lightning, might so easily stumble. The farmer was at market, and his wife could only offer her 'odd man' when he should have done milking; but Mr. Harewood knew the place thoroughly by this time.

It rained in torrents as they set out, the thunder-cloud blotting out all but the path under their feet, though the lightning was more distant. They searched the quarry, and shouted, 'Any one here? Lady Caergwent!' But the mocking echoes only answered, 'Here!' and 'Gwent!' while they searched in vain—till 'Holloa.' Was it a response? Felix shouted. Another 'Holloa!' but hardly from feminine lungs—certainly not from any one suffering any damage. No—there was something tall struggling up the hill through the rain. 'Bear! you've not seen her?'

'Who? Why in the name of wonder are you getting a shower-bath gratis out here?' said he, panting up to them, his arms full of something shiny, and battered, and green; and, as a word or two explained—'Looking for Lady Caergwent! Every one missed her'—the boy's eyes flashed so that Felix really thought he was going to knock him down. 'Left her out here? Why, savages wouldn't have done it! If I had but been there! Dear, sweet girl!'

Just then, something dark was seen lying under a rock, and slightly moving; Clement silently pointed in horror, Bernard gave a sort of howl, waved them all back as unworthy to touch her, and leapt forward. He soon came to a stand-still. It was one of the rugs on which they had been sitting, which had drifted there, rolled up by the wind.

'I begin to hope she may be in the cart-shed,' said Will. 'Let us go on there.'

Bernard strode with a certain tragic authority in advance, as they proceeded, scrambling over a low stone wall into a steep sloping field, scattered with stones and sheep, not easily discernible from one another in the downpour, save for some getting up and running away, while the others remained motionless. At length appeared a fabric of rough stones, rougher piles, and roughest slates, a kind of shelter thrown over the angle of the wall. Through all the rush and roar came a murmur of voices, and through the drifting streams of rain, two figures were discernible, one heather-coloured, the other grey. So much the others had seen, when Bernard, with a sort of tiger-bound forward, shouted, 'You rascal!—Never mind, Lady Caergwent, I am here!'