“He came next day at the usual hour, after we had been astir all night, and the farm-labourers had been far and wide looking for Mrs. Holbrook.  I never saw any one seem so shocked and horrified as he did when we told him how his wife had been missing for more than four-and-twenty hours.  He is not a gentleman to show his feelings much at ordinary times, and he was quiet enough in the midst of his alarm; but he turned as white as death, and I never saw the natural colour come back to his face all the time he was down here.”

“How long did he stay?”

“He only left yesterday.  He was travelling about the country all the time, coming back here of a night to sleep, and with the hope that we might have heard something in his absence.  The river was dragged for three days; but, thank God, nothing came of that.  Mr. Holbrook set the Malsham police to work—­not that they’re much good, I think; but he wouldn’t leave a stone unturned.  And now I believe he has gone to London to get help from the police there.  But O, sir, I can’t make it out, and I have lain awake, night after night thinking of it, and puzzling myself about it, until all sorts of dreadful fancies come into my mind.”

“What fancies?”

“O, sir, I scarcely dare tell you; but I loved that sweet young lady so well, that I have been as watchful and jealous in all things, that concerned her as if she had been my own sister.  I have thought sometimes that her husband had grown tired of her; that, however dearly he might have loved her at first, as I suppose he did, his love had worn out little by little, and he felt her a burden to him.  What other reason could there be for him to keep her hidden away in this dull place, month after month, when he must have seen that her youth and beauty and gaiety of heart were slowly vanishing away, if he had eyes to see anything?”

“But, good Heavens!” Gilbert exclaimed, startled by the sudden horror of the idea which Ellen Carley’s words suggested, “you surely do not imagine that Marian’s husband had any part in her disappearance? that he could be capable of——­”

“I don’t know what to think, sir,” the girl answered, interrupting him.  “I know that I have never liked Mr. Holbrook—­never liked or trusted him from the first, though he has been civil enough and kind enough in his own distant way to me.  That dear young lady could not disappear off the face of the earth, as it seems she has done, without the evil work of some one.  As to her leaving this place of her own free will, without a word of warning to her husband or to me, that I am sure she would never dream of doing.  No, sir, there has been foul play of some kind, and I’m afraid I shall never see that dear face again.”