“Yes!” cried Harry, carried away by the impulse of the moment.
He jumped into the carriage, the door was locked, the train was in motion, and he and Miss Lane had started together for London.
CHAPTER V.
That night there was consternation at the Grange—Harry had not returned. His horse, which he had left in charge of a man he knew at the station, was brought back late in the day to Garstone, with the intelligence that his master had gone by the London train. The man said he thought it must have been a sudden determination of Mr. Braithwaite’s, who had only said, when he left the horse in his care:
“I shall be back in five minutes, Tom. He’ll keep quiet enough; he doesn’t mind the trains.”
Such a freak was not at all an unheard-of thing among the Braithwaites, and little more was thought of it after Sir George’s return home that evening, for he looked upon it as an escapade which would end in the truant’s return the next day with an empty pocket and the appearance of having been up all night.
But, when a week passed, and still no tidings were heard of him, and when, moreover, it came to be known that the late governess of the Mainwarings had left Beckham by the same train, and, as appeared later, in the same carriage, then the people of the village and the people in the town began to chatter, George to swear, and the Vicar of Garstone to look very grave. Mrs. Mainwaring wrote to the aunt to whose house Miss Lane had said she was going, and received in answer the news that the girl had not arrived, but had written, without giving her address, to say she was in lodgings in London. And Mrs. Mainwaring repented her abrupt harshness most bitterly, and did not need the reproaches of her husband, who blamed now his own inaction in allowing the young girl-governess’ abrupt dismissal. Joan and Betty ceased their snappish comments on her, and talked together in whispers about her. And at the Grange they wondered how Harry was getting on without any money, for they knew he had only a small sum with him on the day he left Beckham.
Then came a letter from a friend of Sir George’s, saying that Harry had been seen in Paris, where he seemed to be enjoying himself very much. And then an event happened which, for the time, turned all thoughts away from the truant son.
Sir George, who passed most of his time on horseback, was riding home one afternoon on a horse which had carried him safely through many a hard day’s hunting, when, in taking a fence, with a ditch on the further side, over which they had gone easily time after time together, the horse slipped on landing, and rolled into the ditch on the top of his rider. Sir George tried to rise, but found that he was too much hurt to do so; he called for help, but fainted with pain before any came. At last a man who was passing with a cart saw him, and brought others to the spot by his shouts. They carried him home to the Grange, the doctor was ridden for with all speed, and, before night came, all Garstone knew that the baronet’s life was in danger. Day after day he lingered on, though the hope of his recovery grew slender; hour after hour he lay conscious, but silent to all. The only person he asked for was the missing Harry. Every morning he asked the same questions.
“Has Harry come back? Has any one heard from him?”