It seemed to Jim that the sad old face grew grayer and gaunter each day when he came in to give his monotonous report, which was comprehended in a dismal shake of the head and the simple word, "Nowt!"
And Jim, hopeless himself of anything coming of the disheartening quest, still did his best each day to cheer him. And Seth was glad of the chance of speaking a word or two with some one who understood his talk and sympathised with his woes.
"A most 'mazing place," he said, one time, "an' thicker wi' folk than ah could ha' believed. An' ah connot understand them an' they connot understand me. Ah wish----"
But the poor old fellow's wishes were never to be realised--not the obvious ones at all events. He was neither to find Kattie, nor to find himself safe home again in the spoiled cottage by the Mere.
Perhaps it was best so.
The inevitable happened--that which Jim had feared for him from the time he saw him drift helplessly away into the crowd that first day.
He had written all about the matter to Jack, and Jack's reply, while it lacked nothing in sympathy for old Seth in his bereavement; yet expressed in unmistakable language the writer's astonishment and indignation that he could for one moment have thought any of them guilty of such a deed.
Jim had also waited hopefully on Lord Deseret, to see if his efforts had met with any success. But, so far, they had not.
"I confess I had certain ideas on the subject," said his lordship, "and I have had them followed up, but quite without result. My people are entirely at fault. Is it possible we are all on a false scent and she is nearer home all the time? The indications pointing to her having come to London are, after all, exceedingly slight and vague."
"I've no idea," said Jim despondently. "I wish the old chap would go home. He can do no good here and he's on my mind day and night. I'm certain he'll get run over one of these days."