“I’ll stay with you,” replies her cousin, “and Alice shall bring provisions for us both,” and by this means the secret of Bertie’s absence from the early dinner remains unobserved.
It is snowing heavily as Alice, in fur cloak and snow-boots, trips back to the church some quarter of a mile distant from her home.
The girl is beginning to be very anxious about her brother, and sorely repents her extorted promise of secrecy as to his intentions.
“We are getting on,” says Mrs. Chetwynd glancing round, “I wonder if your father will look in on his way back from shooting. I suppose Bertie must have gone to join him, as we have seen nothing of the boy. I hope they won’t be late; the snow is getting quite deep.”
A hasty knocking at the Church-door makes Alice start and turn so pale that her cousin laughs at her for setting up nerves. Before however they can open it the intruder makes his own way in, and proves to be the stable-helper, with a face so white and scared that the alarm is communicated to Mrs. Chetwynd.
“Milly,” she says faintly, “there has been some accident—ask him—quick—Herbert’s gun”—
“No, no,” says her cousin bent only on re-assuring her, “speak out, James—don’t you see how you are frightening your mistress?”
“If you please ma’am, Gray Plover has come home alone, and”—
“The pony! Master Bertie wasn’t riding?”