"If anyone in this world knows where Jane is, it must be Mr. Harry Castlemaine," observed Sister Mildred in a cold, subdued whisper. "That is, if she be still alive. I wonder, my dear, whether we might ask him."
"Whether he would give any information, you mean," replied Mary Ursula. "He ought to; and I think he would. Though, perhaps, it might be better got at through his father."
"Through his father!" echoed Sister Mildred, quickly. "Oh, my dear, we should never dare to question the Master of Greylands."
"I would: and will," concluded Mary Ursula.
It was in pursuance of this resolve that Mary had come up this afternoon to Greylands' Rest. Harry had gone to Newerton for a day or two, this time really upon business. Mary went upstairs and knocked at her uncle's door.
The Master of Greylands was doing nothing. He had apparently been writing at his bureau, for the flap was down, one drawer stood out and some papers were lying open. He had quitted it, and sat back in a chair near the window; his eyes resting on the calm sea stretched out in the distance. Which sea, however, he never saw; his thoughts were far away.
"Nothing has gone right since that fatal night," he said to himself, his brow knitted into lines of pain. "Teague has said all the summer that suspicions are abroad--though I think he must be wrong; and now there's this miserable trouble about Harry and that girl! For myself, I seem to be treading on a volcano. The stir after Anthony is not at an end yet: I am sure of it; instinct warns me that it is not: and should a comprehensive search be instituted, who can tell where it would end, or what might come to light?"
A log of blazing wood fell on the hearth with a splutter and crash. Mr. Castlemaine looked round mechanically: but all was safe. The room was just as lonely and bare as usual: no signs of life or occupation in it, save the master himself and the papers in the open bureau.
"When men look askance at me," ran on his thoughts, "it makes my blood boil. I am living it down; I shall live it down; but I have not dared to openly resent it and that has told against me. And if the stir should arise again, and unpleasant facts come out--why then it would be all over with the good name of the Master of Greylands. The world calls me proud: and I am proud. Heaven knows, though, that I have had enough this year to take pride out of me."
A deep sigh, telling of the inward trouble, escaped him. Men whose minds are at ease cannot sigh like that.