“Naething o’ the kind, your honour,” answered Robert.
“What then?” demanded Sir George, in a tone that showed he would be answered.
“Why, your honour, they say that wee Leezie Watt’s no come hame, and the folk are gaun to seek for her; and nae doubt they’ll soon find her,” added Robert, stepping hastily away to join them.
Sir George had felt Lady Beaumont’s convulsive grasp of his arm, and gently led her to a seat, where after a while she became more composed, and was able to walk to the Hermitage.
“And now,” said she, on reaching the door, “think no more of me, but give all your thoughts to the most likely means of restoring the poor child to its widowed parent.”
“Spoken like yourself,” said Sir George, pressing her hand; and immediately flew to give directions for making the most thorough and effectual search. But this search, alas! proved equally unavailing as the former one, and no trace whatever could be found of the widow’s child.
The story, joined to the disappearance of Sir George’s daughter, made a great noise, and created considerable alarm in that part of the country; and this alarm was increased fourfold, when, in three weeks afterwards, another child was lost. The whole population now turned out, and people were stationed to watch in different places by night and by day. But no discovery was made; and, to add to their horror, child after child disappeared, till the number of the lost little ones amounted to seven. Parents no longer durst trust their children for a moment out of their sight. They went with them to school, and also went to bring them back again; and these precautions had the best effect, many weeks having elapsed without anything unpleasant happening. The neighbours now began to congratulate each other on the probability, or rather certainty, that those who had inflicted so much misery in that quarter of the country had gone somewhere else, and that they would now be able to live in some kind of peace and comfort. But this peaceful state was not destined to continue.
One of Sir George’s best tenants, David Williams, had been busily engaged in ploughing the whole day, and was thinking of unyoking and going home, when his wife looked over the dyke, and asked him how he was coming on. “But whaur,” continued she, “are the bairns? are they at the t’ither end o’ the field?”
“The bairns!” said David, “I haena seen them; but is’t time for their being back frae the school?”
“Time!” exclaimed his wife; “muckle mair than time, they should hae been hame an hour syne; and that brought me out to see gif they were wi’ you, as you said ye wad may be lowse and gang to meet them!”