CHAPTER XXI.

The Arrest.

As he approached the cottage a heavy presentiment of ill seized Sir Jocelyn.  The place seemed to have lost its customary smiling air.  No fair countenance beamed upon him from the casement; no light footsteps were heard hastening to the door; no one opened it to give him welcome.  Could Aveline have fled’?—­or had some dire misfortune happened to her.  Suspense was worse than certainty of ill:  and after a moment’s hesitation, he raised the latch, and with trembling footsteps crossed the threshold.

She was gone—­he could no longer doubt it.  The disordered appearance of the chamber in which he found himself, with its furniture scattered about, seemed to tell of a struggle, and a forcible abduction.  Nevertheless, though expecting no answer, he called forth her name in accents of wildest despair.  She came not to his cries—­neither she nor her companion, Dame Sherborne, nor her faithful attendant old Anthony Rocke.  All were gone.  The house was indeed desolate.

Still clinging to hope, he flew up-stairs, but could find no traces there of any of the inmates of the dwelling; and with a heart now completely crushed, he descended to the chamber he had just quitted.  Here he found Clement Lanyere surveying the scene of confusion around him with a stern and troubled look.  Sir Jocelyn instantly rushed up to him, and seizing him by the arm, fiercely demanded what had become of Aveline?

“She is in the hands of Sir Francis Mitchell,” replied the promoter, shaking-him off; “and, for aught I know, may be wedded to him by this time.”

“Wedded!” almost shrieked the young man.  “Impossible! she would never consent—­and he would not dare have recourse to violence.”

“Though he might not, his partner, Sir Giles Mompesson, would have no such scruples,” returned the promoter.  “But perhaps you are right, and Aveline’s determined resistance may intimidate them both so that they may abandon their design.  I hope so for your sake, and for hers also—­but I have my fears.”

“You know more than you choose to avow, Sir,” said Sir Jocelyn sternly,—­“and as you value your life, I command you to speak plainly, and tell me what has happened, and where I shall find Aveline.”

“So commanded by any other than yourself, Sir Jocelyn,” rejoined the promoter, “I would not speak; but to you I say, as I have before declared, that Aveline is undoubtedly in the power of Sir Francis Mitchell, and that it will rest entirely with herself whether she escapes him or not.”

“And you have caused me to be detained while she has been carried off,” exclaimed Sir Jocelyn, furiously.  “Fool that I was to trust you!  You are in league with the villains.”