“Gone after it, there’s no doubt,” replied Tom. “Here’s his exercise, not finished yet, and his pen left inside the book. Oh yes; that’s where he has gone!”
CHAPTER XLI. — THE SEARCH.
“Tom, where is Charles?”
“He is not in my pocket,” responded Tom Channing, who was buried in his studies, as he had been for some hours.
“Thomas, that is not the proper way to answer me,” resumed Constance, in a tone of seriousness, for it was from her the question had proceeded. “It is strange he should run out in the abrupt way you describe, and remain out so long as this. It is half-past nine! I am waiting to read.”
“The boys are up to some trick to-night with Mr. Calcraft, Constance, and he is one of them,” said Tom. “He is sure to be in soon.”
Constance remained silent; not satisfied. A nameless, undefined sort of dread was creeping over her. Engaged with Annabel until eight o’clock, when she returned to the general sitting-room, she found Charles absent, much to her surprise. Expecting him to make his appearance every moment, the time may have seemed to her long, and his absence all the more unaccountable. It had now gone on to half-past nine, and still he was not come in, and his lessons were not done. It was his hour for bed time.
Tom had more than usual to do that night, and it was nearly ten when he rose from his books. Constance watched him put them aside, and stretch himself. Then she spoke.