There was a pause. Paul was the first to shake off his surprise.
"She might be at Little Town—in Keswick—twenty places."
"She might be, Master Paul, but she's nowt o' the sort. She's on her way to London, Mercy is."
It was Natt, the stableman at the Ghyll, who spoke.
At that the old man's trance seemed to break.
"Gone! Mercy gone! Gone without a word! Why? Where?"
"She'd her little red bundle aside her; and she cried a gay bit to hersel' in the corner. I saw her mysel'."
Paul's face became rigid with anger.
"There's villainy in this—be sure of that!" he said, hotly.
The laird rocked his head backward and forward, and his eyes swam with tears; but he stood in the middle as quiet as a child.