"He's gone to London, mayhap, that wild place, and won't come back till he's parted with his last shilling," suggested Aaron, anxious to snatch a morsel of comfort anyhow. "I'd once a fling of that sort myself, ma'am, when I was a young fellow, only I got no further than Norwich. They thought I had drowned myself; and father, he had Wippenham Pond dragged for me."
"Let us hope that Hubert's freak may prove no worse than yours," said Ella, cheeringly. "Wait a moment; don't go; I want to speak to you."
Failing Hubert, Miss Winter had made up her mind to question Aaron as to whether he knew anything or not, for her suspense was becoming intolerable.
"Aaron," she began very gravely, "when your grandson Hubert was on board the wreck with me that afternoon, now three weeks ago, he told me something which made a very great impression upon me at the time, and which I cannot forget since. It is in my mind every hour of the day--a source of annoyance. As he does not return, I must question you."
Aaron gazed at his mistress. She thought he looked uneasy.
"What he said was this: 'A dozen words from me, and Heron Dyke would know you as its mistress no more. What you hold, you hold by fraud.' Now, Aaron Stone, I ask you, as my uncle's old and faithful servant, to tell me what meaning was hidden in your grandson's words, when he spoke to me thus."
Aaron's face was turning livid; he stood a picture of abject terror. Twice he essayed to speak, and twice no sound came from his dry lips. Miss Winter noted the emotion.
"What he knows--if there is anything to know--I think you must know; and I ask you, Aaron, what he meant."
"I know no more than the dead what he meant," gasped the old man in a husky whisper. "He must have been mad--mad!"
"Can you attach no meaning to his words?"