The old man got up and went to the window. The dusk was beginning to come on in the short December afternoon.
"Which way did she go?" he asked at length.
"I don't know. I did not watch her go," mumbled the old woman. "I was too busy--I can't be always watching folks."
"We must track her footsteps," said the miser, getting his greatcoat. But in the grounds in front of the house the snow lay in an unbroken sheet; no signs of any footmarks--they were all covered by this time. Nanny and the miser looked at each other in consternation.
"She is lost in the snow," muttered the old woman sitting down in front of the fire, with her apron over her head, rocking herself to and fro. The miser, too, sat down, and covering his face with his hands, groaned aloud.
What was he to do? Where to go? On one side of the castle lay the sea, on the other the moor. It was like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay to search for her--and there were no tracks to follow. The old man was greatly distressed; miser though he was, he had a man's heart, and in his own way he loved his little granddaughter, though, to be sure, he loved money more--or thought he did. But the child was very dear to him--she was all that was left to the lonely old man.
The pair sat in silence for a while, plunged in thought; suddenly the miser arose.
"Light the lantern," he said briefly.
"What are you going to do with it, master?" she asked in a shrill quavering treble.
"To search for the child. Be quick."