"He is gone out. They are seeking him, I believe. I will go myself. Oh! the poor old Squire!" She went into the kitchen—went over the house with swift rapidity to gain news of her father's whereabouts. The servants knew no more than she did. Neither she nor they had heard what Cynthia, ever quick of perception, had done. The shutting of the front door had fallen on deaf ears, as far as others were concerned. Upstairs sped Molly to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Gibson stood at the door, listening to the unusual stir in the house.
"What is it, Molly? Why, how white you look, child!"
"Where's papa?"
"Gone out. What's the matter?"
"Where?"
"How should I know? I was asleep; Jenny came upstairs on her way to the bedrooms; she's a girl who never keeps to her work and Maria takes advantage of her."
"Jenny, Jenny!" cried Molly, frantic at the delay.
"Don't shout, dear,—ring the bell. What can be the matter?"
"Oh, Jenny!" said Molly, half-way up the stairs to meet her, "who wanted papa?"
Cynthia came to join the group; she too had been looking for traces or tidings of Mr. Gibson.