"Describe him," the lawyer said, briefly.
"Wal, he was a good-lookin' young fellow as ye'd wish to see. Tall and slim and genteel, city clothes, a moustache, blueish eyes, and sorter light hair—a swell young chap, sech as we ain't used to in our house."
"Thorndyke!" the lawyer muttered, between his teeth.
"He never stirred out all Sunday," pursued mine host, "until after nightfall. Then he started off afoot, and it was past eleven when he got back. All day Monday he loafed about his room the same way, and on Monday evennin', as I said, he paid his bill, got a buggy somewhere, and drove off. And I calk'late, square, he'd been a drinkin', he kinder looked and talked that way. That's all I know about Mr. John Smith."
They telegraphed along the line, but without success. Nothing satisfactory could be discovered. It was noon now—there was a train for Boston at two. Mr. Gilbert looked at his watch.
"I will not return with you," he said, decisively. "I will go on to Boston. I am positive he will take her there. Meantime, you will leave no stone unturned to track the fugitives here."
"I'll go with you to Boston," said Uncle Reuben, quietly; "if he's taken her there, my place is on the ground. Joe will do all he can here. And by the Lord! when I do see him, I'll make it the dearest night's work he ever did in his life."
So it was arranged. In the dismal loneliness of the pouring afternoon, Joe Kent drove back alone to Kent Hill and to the tortured woman waiting there. Who knew? thought quiet Joe. Perhaps Mr. Gilbert and Reuben had been too hasty, after all. Perhaps Norine was back.
But Norine was not back. The house was empty and desolate—Aunt Hetty sat crying alone. She had gone and left no trace behind, not one word, no note, no letter. Her clothes were all untouched, except those she had worn, and her waterproof cloak. Surely she had never meant to run away, or she would have gone differently from that, and left some line of farewell, some prayer for pardon behind. It must be as Mr. Gilbert had said—the villain had taken her by force.
And while the rainy afternoon deepened into night, the two sad, silent men sat side by side, flying along to Boston. At every station inquiries were made, but no one had seen anything of a young girl and a young man answering the description given. So many came and went always it was impossible to remember. So when night fell in lashing rain and raw east wind the lawyer and the farmer were in Boston, and no trace of runaway Norine had been found.