No one noticed, not even David, that while the Doctor was speaking a shadow stole up and remained motionless by the crumbling stairs of the old banqueting-hall; no one either saw when it glided away. Polly laughed, and almost shouted; every one, Flower excepted, took their places as best they could on the uneven floor of the hall; the white tablecloth was spread neatly in the middle. Every one present was exceedingly uncomfortable physically, and yet each person expressed him or herself in tones of rapture, and said never was such food eaten, or such a delightful dinner served.
For a long time Flower was not even missed; then David’s grave face attracted the Doctor’s attention.
“What is the matter, my lad?” he said. “Have you a headache? Don’t you enjoy this al fresco sort of entertainment? And, by the way, I don’t see your sister. Helen, my dear, do you know where Flower is? Did not she come with you?”
“Of course she did, father; how stupid and careless of me never to have missed her.”
Helen jumped up from the tailor-like position she was occupying on the floor.
“Flower said she would take a little walk,” she continued. “And I must say I forgot all about her. She ought to have been back ages ago.”
“Flower went by herself for a walk on the moor!” echoed the Doctor. “But that isn’t safe; she may lose her way, or get frightened. Why did you let her go, children?”
No one answered; a little cloud seemed to have fallen on the merry party. Polly again had a pinprick of uneasiness in her heart, and a vivid recollection of the highest mountain which she was certainly not trying to climb.
The Doctor said he would go at once to look for Flower.