As Alice had come and gone in the space of an hour, and her absence had not been noticed, save by the housekeeper, the Squire was far from suspecting that his daughter had organised the flight and selected the hiding-place. As to the housekeeper, she was quite on the side of the lovers, since she did not believe for one moment that a nice young gentleman like Montrose had so vilely murdered Don Pablo. Therefore she procured the food and wine and the candles which Montrose had taken with him, and also promised to hold her tongue in spite of all temptation. Alice trusted her, and she was right to do so, for the woman was perfectly staunch. Moreover the girl was glad to have some one to whom she could talk freely. During those dark days she saw little of her father, but remained in her bedroom praying constantly for the safety of her lover. It was a terrible ordeal for one so young and delicate and friendless, but Alice felt that she was being supported by the Master of Love, and that out of sorrow would come enduring joy.
Mrs. Sparrow came to see her, and the narrow-minded grey woman proved to be unusually sympathetic. Neither she nor her husband could bring themselves to believe that Douglas was guilty, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, and for this loyal support Alice was duly grateful. Of course the vicar's wife was excessively aggravating with her platitudes, which did not give much comfort. "All is for the best!" "We must not murmur at the rod!" "It is for your good that you suffer!"—these cut-and-dried phrases dropped incessantly from Mrs. Sparrow's prim lips, and wrought on Alice's nerves to such an extent that sometimes she could have screamed. But knowing that the grey woman meant well, and appreciating her defence of Montrose, the girl controlled her feelings, and accepted these exasperating condolences as genuine, which they assuredly were. But she longed for the presence of Dr. Eberstein and wondered why he did not put in an appearance. Yet he remained absent and silent, not even sending a letter to comfort her in trouble. Still Alice had such a belief in the man that she did not resent his apparent neglect. All the same, her faith was being sorely tried.
Job Trevel did not return. According to his mother he had gone away in his boat to the fishing-grounds at six o'clock on the evening of the murder. No one therefore could suspect that he had anything to do with the matter, but the Polwellin folk wondered at his absence. Rose could give no explanation, as the death of her patron caused her so much grief that she took to her bed. There was no chance now that she would go to London and appear on the stage, and beyond possessing some jewels and a few articles of costly clothing, she had benefited little by Don Pablo's sinister friendship. She would not even have his name mentioned, and now that the man was dead both Dame Trevel and Mrs. Penwin hoped that Rose would marry Job and settle down. The gaudy bubble blown by Narvaez had burst, and the disappointed beauty had to do the best she could. Therefore, she and the two old women looked forward to the return of Job as the best thing that could happen to put the crooked straight. And as the weather had been stormy, it was presumed that Job had been driven for shelter into some distant cove, whence he would come back in due time.
Polwellin was quite excited over the tragic events which had taken place, and the village was in a ferment over the possibility of this person and that gaining the reward offered by the Squire. But although every acre of the moorland was searched the fugitive could not be discovered. It was over forty-eight hours before the first clue was found, and that clue came from a quarter least expected. Also it was given to the man who most wanted to learn the whereabouts of Montrose, on the second day after the commission of the crime. Enistor was the man, and Mr. Sparrow was the person who put him into communication with the individual who afforded the desired information.
"The most wonderful thing has happened, Mr. Enistor," said the vicar, entering the library on the afternoon of the second day. "The age of miracles is not yet past, my dear friend."
Enistor scowled. He did not like to be called a dear friend by the parson, as he thought the man was an ass, and he was quite sure in his own mind that miracles were all rubbish. He told Mr. Sparrow as much. "This isn't Palestine to be gulled by such things, and we live in a scientific era."
"In a very godless era," said the vicar in a tone of reproof. "And I only hope that the wonderful thing that has happened will convert those who do not believe in an Almighty Being to a more reverent frame of mind."
This was a hit at the Squire, who was looked upon as an atheist by Mr. Sparrow. But Enistor did not take up the challenge. "What is your miracle?"
"Mr. Hardwick is alive."
"What?" the Squire could not but feel startled at the announcement.