“Better walk, dears; ’twill stir your blood,” said Dr. Willett at starting; and so they did for a time, but before they reached the farm they were glad to be carried, like two small over-done children as they were.
By the time they had reached the foot of the Tor the snow clouds had quite cleared, and the moon shone. Ah! upon what were those pale beams falling on those snowy heights? Not upon Dick, for when the party reached the farm [p92] they found that he was there, safe in bed, after being held almost a prisoner by Mrs. Grant. “You see, sir, he was that mad to be off again, when he heard you and Mr. Barlow had started for the Tor, that I had to shake some sense into him, and put him to bed—the best place for him, too, for he was ready to drop,” so the housekeeper told her master. Mr. Gregory, too, had just arrived to make inquiries for his two missing ones, so the three doctors turned into the snowy night again, to follow in Sam’s and Carlo’s wake, and hear of what success they had met with in their search.
None; nothing; nobody: this was Sam’s three-worded account of his failure—for it was failure—while Carlo hung his head, dropped his tail forlornly, and whined like a dog baffled.
He, Sam, had been to the Ugly Leap, and beat about everywhere he could think of, but could find no trace of the boy. All the dreary round he and the two doctors went again; all the long night they were out in the snow; but it was a fruitless quest—they were fain to return home in the grey light of the morning, with only this bare certainty, that Oscar was lost—to them [p93] at least. Dr. Willett was very sore at heart, as he and Carlo walked a little apart from the others of the returning party, the dog abject and depressed in attitude as he trotted by his side, as if conscious of what his master was feeling.
Mr. Gregory looked upon his sleeping children and returned home; the others retired for an hour’s rest before going out to their sick patients. Besides, there were new search parties to be organised. To the Ugly Leap went the doctor again as the day wore on; the dark waters of the gorge were searched, so far as such a mysterious stream could be searched, emerging from the heart of the earth, and only flowing a few yards, it may be, in the light of day, ere it dived away into the darkness and secrecy from which it had come. Ah! there was neither sign nor token of the missing boy, there or elsewhere. Nothing, nowhere—these were the words that went the round of Cherton, with their dreary hopelessness, as the days flowed on, and tidings went here and there of the lost boy, while his description was sent to the police authorities, far and wide.
But there came no answer as day succeeded [p94] day, and March blustered itself away, and sweet fickle April took its place; all was silence, as if the lad had indeed vanished from the earth. Had he?
Inna went daily for lessons to the Owl’s Nest. It was well to get away from the house, Mrs. Grant said, for the child moped and grew pale under the suspense and mystery of what had befallen this strong, wilful, good-natured cousin of hers, whom she had been gathering to her as the brother she had long sighed for. True, Jenny came over to see her, for she too was lonely, with Dick gone back to school; but what could Jenny understand about her heartache?—she with her brother safe at school, while Oscar, Inna’s all but brother, was nobody knew where.
“I wish he hadn’t played truant that day, and I wish I hadn’t let him:” this was the burdened little plaint, making her heart so heavy, and which she ventured to pour out to Mr. Barlow one day.
“Oh, my dear little lady, don’t think that what happened came of his playing truant. I know it isn’t a pleasant thought that there was [p95] that little hitch of underhand doings; and if he’d only mentioned the going to the Tor, we could have told you all snow was coming, thanks to the glass. But, mind me, we don’t get our deserts in that way, or we should be always having a whipping. And I never give up hope with a patient till the last remedy has been tried and fails; and, remember, there is no last remedy with a wise unfailing Providence.” This was the surgeon’s reply.
“Oh, yes. But suppose he is dead, was killed, washed under the Tor by the dark waters of the brook at the Ugly Leap,” sighed the child.