"Mr. Fortescue is leaving no stone unturned," said Miss Gregson.
"I know, but it may be too late. Poor Meg may be dead by this time. I saw Peter this morning and he tells me the man Jem spends all his spare time looking for her. He has not yet given up hope. I can't tell you how many letters Peter has written. If I find her I shall try and do all I can to make her life happy. That is to say if she will let me. If not, perhaps I could help her through you or Peter. He said something about the possibility of getting the man back as estate carpenter or something of that sort. Jem assures him he would never receive charity. Peter has taken a fancy to him, and hopes if Meg is found she will reward his faithfulness by marrying him. But oh, Angel, if she is lost for good," added Sheila, unable to restrain her sense of wrong doing any more, "I think I shall die of remorse."
Miss Gregson knew Sheila well enough to know that this mood would pass, but she had a firm hope that she had learnt her lesson, and that, besides reading sad books about the state of the world, she would turn to the only One Who could teach her to do the best for that corner of it in which He had placed her. Till she knew what it was, like Mary, to sit at His feet and learn to be meek and lowly, Miss Gregson had little hope of her feeling permanent sympathy for her sisters' sorrows and sufferings.
[CHAPTER XXIII]
JEM
MEG awoke the morning following the expedition to Hampstead Heath, full of courage. She knew she must set to work without fail, or the very few shillings that remained of her five pounds would be exhausted.
"I mean to go and see the Rector," she informed Mrs. Webb who had come up to her room to give her a look before starting off to her work.
"If you like to wait till the evening I'll go round with you," Mrs. Webb answered. But Meg longed to set to work at once, and moreover did not feel any fear at interviewing the Rector.
So ten o'clock found her in his study.
It was a large room, the walls of which were lined with books. In the centre stood a writing table at which Mr. Wentworth was sitting. He laid down his pen as the servant opened the door to admit Meg. His visitor corresponded curiously in appearance with the description he had just received of a girl for whom search was being made.