The next morning he lay till near ten o’clock, and he had only just come out upon the head of the staircase when he heard hoofs upon the gravel without; in a few moments the door had been opened, and Sir John Grebe met him in the hall, as he set foot on the lowest stair.
‘My lord—where’s Barbara—my daughter?’
Even the Earl of Uplandtowers could not repress amazement. ‘What’s the matter, my dear Sir John,’ says he.
The news was startling, indeed. From the Baronet’s disjointed explanation Lord Uplandtowers gathered that after his own and the other guests’ departure Sir John and Lady Grebe had gone to rest without seeing any more of Barbara; it being understood by them that she had retired to bed when she sent word to say that she could not join the dancers again. Before then she had told her maid that she would dispense with her services for this night; and there was evidence to show that the young lady had never lain down at all, the bed remaining unpressed. Circumstances seemed to prove that the deceitful girl had feigned indisposition to get an excuse for leaving the ball-room, and that she had left the house within ten minutes, presumably during the first dance after supper.
‘I saw her go,’ said Lord Uplandtowers.
‘The devil you did!’ says Sir John.
‘Yes.’ And he mentioned the retreating carriage-lights, and how he was assured by Lady Grebe that no guest had departed.
‘Surely that was it!’ said the father. ‘But she’s not gone alone, d’ye know!’
‘Ah—who is the young man?’
‘I can on’y guess. My worst fear is my most likely guess. I’ll say no more. I thought—yet I would not believe—it possible that you was the sinner. Would that you had been! But ’tis t’other, ’tis t’other, by G---! I must e’en up, and after ’em!’