We left Aunt Caroline at the Cottage, and drove together in all haste, and in perfect silence, to Fairview.
Mrs. Rayner was at breakfast when we entered the dining-room; I can see her still, with her egg-spoon in her hand.
“You are fine people!” she said, “but please remember another time that Constance is not such a horse as you are, and can’t stand exercise on an empty stomach.”
I stared stupidly, and then I said, but my voice was so low that I scarcely heard it:
“We have not seen Constance this morning.”
Mrs. Rayner gave a shrill scream.
“My child!” she cried, “where is my child!” and ran from the room. Gabriel and I stood motionless where she had left us, and clasped our cold hands.
“Emilia Fletcher!” called Mrs. Rayner from upstairs, with a hard ring in her voice, “come up; I want you a minute.”
And I went up. The bed was tumbled, but she had not slept in it; her hat and cloak were gone. I sat on the edge of the bed and shook from head to foot; Mrs. Rayner was running to and fro like a mad woman.
“She is gone! Where is she gone? I never said good night to her!” she shrieked. “Mrs. Norton, you saw her last, you must know something of it. Here are her boots, she must have gone out in her shoes; the soles were thin, she’ll catch her death of cold!” And she ran to the door, crying, “Constance! Constance!”