“Is Harry here?” asked the Vicar, as his friend entered.
“No,” said Mr. Fenton. “God bless me, Lewis, you look quite white.”
“My niece is missing,” exclaimed the Vicar, his lips shaking; “I have come to tell you. They have gone off—Heaven forgive them for what they have done! We must go after them. I came here with a faint hope of finding Harry, but I must be off again.”
The Squire took him by the arm as he was making for the door, and pulled him into a chair. He sank into it, covering his eyes.
“What must you think of me, you and Lady Harriet? Fenton, I never foresaw it, blind fool that I was! She was so quiet, I never dreamed that the whole thing was not over, so far as she was concerned; she did not even seem to care.”
The Squire was bewildered.
“She complained of headache last night and told the maid not to call her in the morning. The girl forgot and tried to open the door. It was locked, so she got frightened and came for me, and we found the room empty. The bed had not been slept in, though one could see that she had been lying on it; she must have lain down in her clothes for fear of not awaking in time. Her handbag was gone, and her brushes and things—that is what made me suspect. I sent a boy down to a cottage on the road to Llangarth to ask if anything had been seen, and the man had heard a carriage pass a little before six and seen the lights of a postchaise. He heard it pass again on its way back not long after.”
“How do you know it was Harry?” asked Mr. Fenton.
“I can only guess; but who else could it be? I must be off at once. I am going to Llangarth, for I shall get some clue at the toll this end of the town. They would be obliged to pass through it.”