“Don’t seem like a doctor’s business, sir,” continued Wilton, gravely; “but you medical men have to be confidential, so keep your tongue quiet about what you have seen.”
Leigh bowed his head, for he could not speak. A horrible sensation, as if he were about to be attacked by a fit, assailed him, and he had to battle with it to think and try to grasp what this meant. One moment there was the fear that violence had been used; the next that it meant a willing flight; and he was fiercely struggling with the bitter thoughts which came, suggesting that his love for this delicate, gentle girl was a mockery, for she was either weak, or had long enough before bound herself to another, when he was brought back to the present by the action of the Squire, who, after a sharp glance round, stooped to pick up the door-key from where it lay on the carpet after being turned and pushed out by means of a piece of wire, in the hope, as suggested by Samuel, that it could be picked out afterwards at the bottom of the door, a plan which had completely failed.
Wilton thrust in the key, turned it, and opened the door, to admit his wife and the maid.
“Miss Kate, Miss Kate,” cried the latter.
“Call louder,” said Wilton, mockingly. “There’s no one here.”
“James, James, my dear, what does this mean?” cried Mrs Wilton excitedly.
“Bed not been slept in; window open—ladder outside—can’t you see?”
Eliza looked at him wildly, as if she could not grasp his words; then with a cry she rushed to a wardrobe, dragged it open, and examined the hooks and pegs.
“Hat—waterproof!” she cried; and then with a faint shriek—“Gone?”
“Yes, gone,” said Wilton brutally. “Here, Maria; this way.”