"But where is it supposed that he can be, this Josiah Bell?" asked the general. "Where should you think he is, Mr. Raynor?"
Perhaps no one at the table, with the exception of Margaret, noticed that the young surgeon was somewhat agitated by the topic: that his breath seemed a little laboured as he answered the repeated questions, and that his complexion changed from red to pale. Margaret silently wondered why the disappearance of a miner should so affect him.
"Are there any old pits, used out and abandoned, that the man could have fallen into?" asked the sensible general.
A strangely-vivid flush now on Frank Raynor's face. A marked hesitation in his voice, as he replied.
"Not—not any—that are easy of access, I fancy, Sir Arthur."
"Well, the man must be somewhere, dead or alive. You say it is not at all thought that he would run away."
"Oh no; his friends say he would not be likely to do that."
"He has a very beautiful daughter, has he not?" spoke Lydia to Frank, from the opposite side of the table.
"Yes, she is nice-looking."
"Nice-looking is not the word for it, Mr. Raynor—as we are told," persisted Lydia. "We hear she is strictly, faultlessly beautiful. Fancy that, for the daughter of a common miner!"