Every possible inquiry was made, and every place was searched.  The brick-kilns were examined, the cottages were visited, the two women were particularly questioned, but they knew nothing of him, and nobody could doubt that their wonder was genuine.  The weather had for some time been too wet and the night itself had been too wet to admit of any tracing by footsteps.  Hedge and ditch, and wall, and rick and stack, were examined by our men for a long distance round, lest the boy should be lying in such a place insensible or dead; but nothing was seen to indicate that he had ever been near.  From the time when he was left in the loft-room, he vanished.

The search continued for five days.  I do not mean that it ceased even then, but that my attention was then diverted into a current very memorable to me.

As Charley was at her writing again in my room in the evening, and as I sat opposite to her at work, I felt the table tremble.  Looking up, I saw my little maid shivering from head to foot.

“Charley,” said I, “are you so cold?”

“I think I am, miss,” she replied.  “I don’t know what it is.  I can’t hold myself still.  I felt so yesterday at about this same time, miss.  Don’t be uneasy, I think I’m ill.”

I heard Ada’s voice outside, and I hurried to the door of communication between my room and our pretty sitting-room, and locked it.  Just in time, for she tapped at it while my hand was yet upon the key.

Ada called to me to let her in, but I said, “Not now, my dearest.  Go away.  There’s nothing the matter; I will come to you presently.”  Ah!  It was a long, long time before my darling girl and I were companions again.

Charley fell ill.  In twelve hours she was very ill.  I moved her to my room, and laid her in my bed, and sat down quietly to nurse her.  I told my guardian all about it, and why I felt it was necessary that I should seclude myself, and my reason for not seeing my darling above all.  At first she came very often to the door, and called to me, and even reproached me with sobs and tears; but I wrote her a long letter saying that she made me anxious and unhappy and imploring her, as she loved me and wished my mind to be at peace, to come no nearer than the garden.  After that she came beneath the window even oftener than she had come to the door, and if I had learnt to love her dear sweet voice before when we were hardly ever apart, how did I learn to love it then, when I stood behind the window-curtain listening and replying, but not so much as looking out!  How did I learn to love it afterwards, when the harder time came!

They put a bed for me in our sitting-room; and by keeping the door wide open, I turned the two rooms into one, now that Ada had vacated that part of the house, and kept them always fresh and airy.  There was not a servant in or about the house but was so good that they would all most gladly have come to me at any hour of the day or night without the least fear or unwillingness, but I thought it best to choose one worthy woman who was never to see Ada and whom I could trust to come and go with all precaution.  Through her means I got out to take the air with my guardian when there was no fear of meeting Ada, and wanted for nothing in the way of attendance, any more than in any other respect.