"Miss Evelyn? No, where should she be, but at home welcoming her old playfellow back?" said the sexton.
"Ah, but she ain't there, and we're all wondering what's become of her."
"Pooh! Why, man, she can't be nowhere else. Somebody's sent you on a fool's errand."
"I tell you she's been called, and hunted for, all over the place, and the Squire isn't best pleased at her not showing herself."
"Who saw her last?" asked the landlord.
"Why, Cook saw her last, for she give her a pot of jelly for old widow Pratt, and Cook says, says she, 'Let me take it, Miss, after they've all come in: you'll be wanted in a few minutes.' But no, Miss Evelyn would take it along herself, saying that widow Pratt would like it better for her bringing it."
"There ain't no doubt about that," said the sexton; "and in course something has kept her with the old woman."
"No, that's just what it hasn't, for we sent there when we saw how vexed the Master was, and she ain't been there at all, and the old woman hadn't heard of her jelly."
"Bless us all!" cried Timothy Turnbull, starting up. "Where can she be, poor lamb?"
The sexton looked aghast. His first thought had been a question on the astounding possibility that she might in her wilfulness have taken a sudden dislike to Guy, and did not choose to be among the eager party of home welcomers. Then a second changed his idea from annoyance to horror.