"Yes," I replied. "Mr. Hugh Lethbridge is missing."
"Dear, dear sir!" Then lapsing into his old formula when he did not know what to say, he added, "Yes, sir; thank you, sir."
I had scarcely come within sight of Trecarrel when I had an attack of my old malady. It was not severe. Nevertheless, while it lasted it was terrible. I thought I should have fainted on the footpath on which I walked. Presently it passed away somewhat, and, undeterred by my suffering, I made my way towards the house. At that moment my last meeting with Isabella Lethbridge had no weight with me whatever. In fact, I did not anticipate seeing her. However, she must have seen me as I came up the drive, for it was not a servant but she who opened the door.
"What is the matter? You are ill!" she cried. "I—I never saw you looking like this before."
"That does not matter," was my reply. "I am all right now. I came up because—because...." I did not finish the sentence. I was startled by the look in her eyes. I saw her lips quivering. "Your father and mother are in?" I queried.
"Yes, but—but I do not think you had better see them now."
"It may not be so bad after all," I said, trying to speak cheerfully. "The paper only reports him missing."
"Oh, but haven't you heard? No, of course you can't have. But you ought not to be here. You look so ill, so terribly ill."
"She must care for her brother more than I thought. She speaks like one in terrible distress," I reflected. "Oh, no, I am not ill at all now," I said aloud, "but I saw the paper just now, and I could not help coming. It is not so bad as it might be, is it? While there is life there is hope."
"But there is no hope," she said. "Hugh is dead."