No answer could he give to either of these questions which was at all likely to calm the apprehensions that he now began seriously to entertain concerning his friend's fate; and he gazed round the spot to which the footsteps had conducted him with more anxiety concerning the next object that was to meet his view than ever he had felt on the field of battle.
At length, however, his eye rested on the little rugged path by which his friend and the gipsy had descended to the scene of their conference; and Manners at once followed it. Here, again, the two sets of footprints were distinctly visible, going down towards the abandoned quarry and the felled oak. There were marks also to be seen, as of some one coming up; but they had evidently been imprinted by the tread of one person, and that not of Edward de Vaux. A few drops of blood next met Manners's eye, as with an attentive gaze he examined the ground while he descended. Then came more and more, dotting the sand with red, till they at length led on to a spot where the same footsteps were thick and many, as if the persons whose course they marked had stood there for some time. There, too, appeared, however, an evidence of more import; for close to the spot where De Vaux and the gipsy had been standing, the sand had drank up a large quantity of gore, while the patches of short green grass that had rooted themselves here and there upon the broken ground around were dabbled with red in various directions.
Manners gazed with horror and with grief on signs so unequivocal of the fate of his unhappy friend; and if he sorrowed bitterly for De Vaux, his heart was hardly less afflicted when he thought of her who was so soon to have become his bride--of her whose father and whose lover had shared the same dark and melancholy fate. His heart bled for her; and although, under any circumstances, he would have felt the same sympathy for De Vaux's family, and the same grief for the loss of his friend, the pain he personally felt was aggravated by the belief that he had, in some degree, been made an instrument for the purpose of decoying him into the trap which had evidently been laid for him. That feeling, however, and the indignation which that feeling awakened, made him the more strongly determine never to abandon the search till he had discovered the murderer and brought him to justice. He resolved to devote time, and fortune, and life itself, if it should be necessary, to the pursuit; to trace the offender out with the pertinacity of a bloodhound, and to run him down as he would a wolf.
Although, to a man of Manners's character and peculiar frame of mind, the very task of the avenger was a bitter and a dreadful one, yet there was another duty still more grievous which lay before him for execution--that of communicating to the family of his unhappy friend the painful facts he had discovered; and the thought of the tears of Marian, and the sterner grief of Mrs. Falkland, and the deep, deep sorrow of her daughter, all thrilled upon him as he contemplated the course he had to follow. But to such thoughts he gave but a few moments. No time was to be lost in long deliberation, if action were to be effectual; and as Manners was not more a man of real deep and noble feeling than he was a man of active energy, he turned instantly to the measures for detecting the murderer. His first step was to take the exact measurement of both the footprints, and the next, to note down precisely in his memorandum-book every thing that had occurred in the search.
The man who had been seen watching his party from the wood he felt sure was implicated in the transaction, if he were not the principal; and among the gipsies were to be found, beyond all doubt, the accomplices of the murderer, if not the participators in the deed itself. After a brief conversation, then, with the servants concerning the discoveries they had already made, he proceeded to inquire what was the next village or town to the seat of Lord Dewry; and being informed by his late friend's servant, who was well acquainted with the county, that it was called Barholm, he went on to give further directions.
"You, William," he said, "ride back to the sandpit, which you saw me examining just now on the top of the common; you will there find the tracks of wheels and feet going down the opposite road to that by which we came, indicating the direction the gipsies have taken. Follow them as fast as you can, making continual inquiries concerning them. Trace them out, step by step, till you have found them. Then hire any of the peasantry to keep watch upon them, night and day, paying whatever sum may be necessary in advance, and giving strict orders to follow them wherever they go. There is a note to pay the people. Do not spare either speed or money; and when you have taken these precautions, ride over to join me at Barholm, where I will be tonight. Quick! mount, and away!"
The man obeyed, and Manners then turned to his own servant. "You, John," he said, "lead your horse down the bank to the road--then on to the village there, with all speed. Gather together as many stout men as ever you can, and mount them at any price. Establish corresponding patrols all round this wood, as we did at the wood beyond Montreal last year, and remember that the great thing is haste. There is money, and if you need more, refer the people to me at Morley House. When you have done that, and left the care of the patrol in the hands of the most intelligent fellow you can find, come back to me at the house."
"Shall I tell the folks what is the matter, sir?" demanded the servant. Manners mused for some moments. "Yes," he said, at length, "yes; circumstances fully justify it; and the people, who must love Mrs. Falkland and her family, will work in the matter with the greater interest. Lose no time, John, lest the fellow get out of the wood before you can surround it. He will probably lie there for half an hour or so, till he thinks we are gone, and then will make an effort to escape. It will take at least four or five-and-twenty men to watch it properly, giving each of them half a mile; but I should think that in the village you can get together as many--at all events, do your best."
The man bowed, and led his beast down the bank, while Manners, springing into the saddle, turned his horse's head back towards Morley House.
With grief and reluctance he did so; and although he felt the necessity of promptitude in his own proceedings, and that he had no right to keep those so deeply interested in suspense, yet repugnance to his painful task certainly rendered his horse's pace slower in returning than it had been when he set out upon his search.