“Now, we must hear from them!” cried Mr. Churchill.
“We will know the truth at last,” said Mrs. Churchill, in a more subdued tone.
“What truth?” answered her husband, sharply. “They were married, and now Mr. John Temple is the squire of Woodlea, and May is his wife—but all the same, I am sorry to hear the old squire has passed away.”
“How will they let Mr. John Temple know that his uncle is dead, if they do not know where he is?” suggested Mrs. Churchill in her practical way.
“I will see to that,” replied Mr. Churchill, determinedly. “There will be no one, I suppose, to look after things at the Hall now but the stupid old parson and his skin-flint of a wife. Madam won’t know anything about business, so as May’s father I will ride over at once, and of course Mr. Temple, as heir, must be immediately telegraphed for. His bankers, by this time, probably really do know where he is.”
“I think you are quite right to go, William,” said Mrs. Churchill, who, in truth, was full of curiosity to know all about the matter.
So Mr. Churchill mounted his horse and speedily reached the Hall in a state of scarcely suppressed excitement. And his coming was not unnoticed. Mrs. Layton, from one of the upper windows, peered down into the court-yard when she heard the sound of his horse’s hoofs below, and gave a kind of cry when she saw who it was.
“Here is the first of them!” she exclaimed aloud to herself, and then she hastily looked round the room to see what she could pick up before “the others arrived.”
She caught up some trifle, and then hurried down to her daughter’s bedroom.
“Rachel!” she cried, “that Churchill has arrived; you must rouse yourself, and lock up all the jewels and silver, or they will be laying hands on everything.”