"Ultimately, perhaps, but not easily," answered Douglas; "the bed of the stream is a mass of tangled weeds. I have heard Lionel say that men have been drowned in that river whose bodies have never been discovered."
"It is horrible!" exclaimed Reginald; "but let us still hope for the best. All this may be needless misery."
"I fear not, Reginald," answered Douglas; "my brother Lionel is not a man to be careless about giving anxiety to those who love him."
"I will ride farther along the bank," said the baronet; "I may hear something."
"And I will wait here," replied Douglas, with the dull apathy of despair. "The news of my brother's death will reach me soon enough."
Reginald Eversleigh rode on by the river brink, following a group of horsemen carrying torches. Douglas waited, with his ear on the alert to catch every sound, his heart beating tumultuously, in the terrible expectation that each moment would bring him the news he dreaded to hear.
Endless as that interval of expectation and suspense appeared to Douglas Dale, in reality it was not of very long duration. The cold of the winter's night did not affect him, the burning fever of fear devoured him. Soon he lost sight of the glimmering of the torches, as the bearers followed the bend of the river, and the sound of the men's voices died out of his ears. But after a while he heard a shout, then another, and then two men came running towards him, as fast as they could in the darkness. Douglas Dale knew them both, and called out, "What is it, Freeman? What is it, Carey? Bad news, I fear."
"Yes, Mr. Douglas, bad news. We've found the rector's hunting-whip."
"Where?" stammered Douglas.
"Below the bridge, sir, close by the ash-tree; and the bank is broken. I'm afraid it's all up, sir; if he went in there, the horse and he are both gone, sir."