Together they hurried down the path, Gabrielle calling her brother's name again and again.
No answer.
And the wicket-gate was closed.
Nothing was to be seen beyond saving a narrow stretch of moorland broken by forest growth, which bordered a valley.
"Morice! Morice! Oh, Michael, where can he be?"
She had called him Mr. Berrington yesterday, and the man's heart stirred with quick throbbing at the sound of his name, and the appeal in her tones.
"Do not be afraid," he replied. "No harm can have befallen him; none knew of his coming."
"Excepting my Lord Denningham."
"But he had no speech with him. You say he went away at once."
"At once."