“Isn’t he here?” asked the Ulsterman. “When we seen the fire he started up to the big house to give the alarm, while I turned to to save the bullocks.”
“No, he never came to the house,” answered Jack, and there was an added gravity in his manner as he turned to his brother.
“Get a lantern, Dick. This thing must be looked into at once.”
While the boy went in search of a light, Mr. Connolly attempted to obtain from his daughter a connected statement of what had happened and how much she had seen; but she was in no condition to answer questions. The poor girl could only sob and moan and cover her face with her hands, while convulsive tremblings shook her slight figure.
“Oh, don’t ask me, papa; don’t speak to me about it. It was dreadful—dreadful. I saw it all.”
This was all they could gain from her.
“Don’t thrubble the poor young lady,” interposed old Peter, compassionately. “Sure, the heart’s put acrass in her wid the fright. Lave her be till mornin’.”
There seemed nothing else to be done, so Polly was left in charge of her mother and sister, while the men, headed by Dick, who carried a lantern, set out to examine the grounds.
There was no trace of Fergus between the house and the farm-yard. The lawn was much cut up by the cattle, for the frost had turned to rain early in the evening, and a rapid thaw was in progress. The ground was quite soft on the surface, and it was carefully scrutinised for traces of footsteps, but nothing could be distinguished among the hoof-prints of the bullocks.
In the yard all was quiet. The fire had died down; the roof of the cattle-shed had fallen in and smothered the last embers. The barn was a ruin, but no other damage had been done, and there were no signs of the missing man.