"Something wrong," said the old Major. "Ah! what's that writing?" His keen eyes, sharpened by years of woodcraft, had caught the glimpse of a paper tacked to the upper portion of the door. In the happy anticipation of coming reunion they had not noticed it before. Ande tore it from its fastenings and brought it forth more closely to their vision.
"For rent,—James Lanyan," slowly read Ande.
"Some cursed doings of the Lanyans," said the old man weakly, and he sat down on the steps, for in his disappointment his strength began to fail him. Just at this moment a lad was seen passing, and Ande accosted him.
"Mrs. Trembath? Why—her's gone nigh two years ago. Sir James Lanyan got the place and sold her out."
"Where did she go, lad?" asked the Major, faintly. "No one knows that, sir."
The old man buried his face in his hands. His spirit, so cheery a short time before, seemed broken.
"Are the Vivians still here?" asked Ande, sharply, for there was an angry passion raging within him.
"Old squire died a year or so ago. The Lanyans got the Manor, and some says as how the old squire died of a broken heart, sir."
"And Mistress Alice?"
"Her's gone, too; no one knows where; the Lanyans turned 'er out."