“Take my word for it, she has run away with someone,” repeated Mrs. Churchill.
Mr. Churchill now began to think there must be some truth in this. It could not be young Henderson, as she disliked him so much; and then there was Mr. Goodall, the curate—but no, May always laughed at him—and then suddenly Mr. Churchill remembered John Temple, and seeing May and him in the garden together in the moonlight.
He gave a sort of exclamation as the idea struck him, but he said nothing. Mr. John Temple was his landlord’s nephew and heir, and it was a very serious thing to bring any such accusation against him unless he had good grounds for it.
“I will drive over to the station, and see if I can hear anything there,” he said, hastily, and he accordingly did this, and was received in a friendly manner by the station-master, with whom he was well acquainted.
“I want a word with you, Mr. Johnson,” said Mr. Churchill, in some agitation.
“Certainly, sir. Come in here,” replied the station-master, leading Mr. Churchill into his private office.
“Did you see anything of my daughter, yesterday?” now asked Mr. Churchill, in an anxious voice.
“Oh, yes, sir, of course; I put her into the quarter-to-six train myself, on her road to London. She told me she was going to pay a visit there.”
“To London?” repeated Mr. Churchill; and he turned so pale that the station-master grew alarmed.