“Oh, you are up at last!” said the doctor.
“I had a very bad night’s rest; that must be my apology for a very late appearance,” said Malcolm, drawing his chair to the table.
“And have you heard since you came down that the prisoner has escaped?”
“Yes, so my servant informed me; but she cannot have gone far.”
“Why, no; and as the promptest measures have been taken for her apprehension, we hope soon to have her safely lodged in jail. But the great mystery is the manner of her escape. She must have vanished up the chimney. I suspect Tabs of knowing more about it than she is willing to tell; but then there is no evidence against her, and she insists that her mistress must have been spirited away by the policeman on guard while she, Tabs, slept. And in fact if we were not assured of the fidelity of Sims, this would seem the most likely solution of the mystery.”
“I should think it would seem the only one,” said Malcolm, secretly thanking Heaven that Tabitha had proved “game,” and that the manner of Eudora’s escape was as yet unknown and unsuspected.
The remainder of the day was passed in fruitless search for the fugitive, of whom several traces were supposed to have been found. One policeman brought back the report that a young lady in deep mourning had taken the night train at Poolville for Edinburgh. Another that a young person answering to the description of Eudora Leaton had been seen to get into the cross-country stage-coach going to Sherbourne. A third brought the intelligence that a young woman in black had been seen to go on board a vessel bound for Abbeyport—a small sea-coast village six miles from Allworth—to Arrach, on the north coast of Ireland.
Policemen, armed with warrants, were sent off in all these directions, while the route of the fugitive remained undiscovered.
Late that night Lieutenant Norham Montrose, the younger brother of Malcolm, arrived at the Abbey.
Norham Montrose was, in form and features, the very counterpart of Malcolm, having the same tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested, strong limbed athletic form, the same noble Roman features, and the same commanding presence. But in complexion and in temperament they were as opposite as day and night; for whereas Malcolm was fair as a Saxon, with clear, blue eyes, and light auburn hair, Norham was dark as a Spaniard, with jet-black eyes and raven-black hair and whiskers. And where Malcolm was gracious, liberal and confiding, Norham was haughty, reserved and suspicious.