"Send to the stables to see if my brother's horse has been brought home," cried Douglas, with alarm very evident in his face and manner. "Or, stay, I will go myself."
He ran out of the hall, and in a few moments returned.
"The horse has not been brought back," he cried; "there must be something wrong."
"Stop," cried the squire; "pray, my dear Mr. Douglas Dale, do not let us give way to unnecessary alarm. There may be no cause whatever for fear or agitation. If Mr. Dale was summoned away from the hunt to attend the bed of a dying parishioner, he would be the last man to think of sending his horse home, or to count the hours which he devoted to his duty."
"But he would surely send a messenger here to prevent the alarm which his absence would be likely to cause amongst us all," replied Douglas; "do not let us deceive ourselves, Mr. Mordaunt. There is something wrong—an accident of some kind has happened to my brother. Andrews, order fresh horses to be saddled immediately. If you will ride one way, squire, I will take another road, first stopping in the village to make all possible inquires there. Reginald, you will help us, will you not?"
"With all my heart," answered Reginald, with energy, but in a voice which was thick and husky.
Douglas Dale looked at his cousin, startled, even in the midst of his excitement, by the strange tone of Reginald's voice.
"Great heavens! how ghastly pale you look, Reginald!" he cried; "you apprehend some great misfortune—some dreadful accident?"
"I scarcely know," gasped the baronet; "but I own that I feel considerable alarm—the—the river—the current was so strong after the thaw—the stream so swollen by melted snow. If—if Lionel's horse should have tried to swim the river—and failed—"
"And we are lingering here!" cried Douglas, passionately; "lingering here and talking, instead of acting! Are those horses ready there?" he shouted, rushing out to the portico.