"Of Miss Gillespie? I, Mrs. Hammond? Not a word. What has happened?"
"Of course you haven't, but the most extraordinary thing! This morning Miss Gillespie did not come into Alice's room as usual; so the child dressed by herself, and went to Miss Gillespie's room. She tried the door, and found it fast; so, concluding that her governess was ill,--she's subject to headaches, I believe,--Alice went down to breakfast. Afterwards she tried Miss Gillespie's door again, but with no better success; and then she came to me. I sent for Gifford, Mr. Hammond's man, you know; and after calling out once or twice, he burst the door open; we all rushed in, and found the room empty."
"Empty!" cried Sir Charles.
"The devil!" burst out Mr. Effingham. "I beg your pardon! What an odd thing!"
"Empty," repeated Mrs. Hammond. "The bed hadn't been slept in; her boxes were open, and some of the things had been taken out; while on the dressing-table was this note addressed to me."
She handed a small slip of paper to Sir Charles, who opened it and read aloud:
"You will never see me again. Search for me will be useless.
"R. G."
"Yes," said Mrs. Hammond, "she's gone. 'Search for me will be useless.' So provoking too; just the sort of person one liked to have about one; and I had got quite accustomed to her and all that. 'Never see me again;' I declare it's horribly annoying. Now, Sir Charles, I want to ask your advice: what would you do? Would you have people sent after her in all directions, eh?"
"Well, 'pon my word, I don't see how you can do that," said Sir Charles. "She hasn't taken anything of yours, I suppose,--no, of course not,--so, you see, she has a right to go away when she likes. Needn't give a month's warning, eh?"