“No,” was the gentle answer. “I have succeeded him.” The young cleric paused. “Mr. Sylvester has been with God these three years.”
Holles commanded himself. “This is bad news to me, sir. He was an old friend. And his daughter ... Miss Nancy? Where is she?”
“I cannot tell you, sir. She had departed from Potheridge before I came.”
“But whither did she go? Whither?” In a sudden frenzy he shook the other’s arm.
The cleric suffered it in silence, realizing the man’s sudden distraction.
“That, sir, I do not know. I never heard. You see, sir, I had not the acquaintance of Miss Sylvester. Perhaps the squire....”
“Aye, aye! The squire!”
To the squire’s he went, and burst in upon him at table in the hall. Squire Haynes, corpulent and elderly, heaved himself up at the intrusion of this splendid stranger.
“God in Heaven!” he cried in amazement. “It’s young Randal Holles! Alive!”