“What could have happened while I was out of the room?”

“I know no more than you do, my dear.  It is simply one of the possibilities in the case, and, as such, I notice it.  To get on to what practically concerns us; if Miss Silvester is in delicate health it is impossible that she could get, unassisted, to any great distance from Windygates.  She may have taken refuge in one of the cottages in our immediate neighborhood.  Or she may have met with some passing vehicle from one of the farms on its way to the station, and may have asked the person driving to give her a seat in it.  Or she may have walked as far as she can, and may have stopped to rest in some sheltered place, among the lanes to the south of this house.”

“I’ll inquire at the cottages, uncle, while you are gone.”

“My dear child, there must be a dozen cottages, at least, within a circle of one mile from Windygates!  Your inquiries would probably occupy you for the whole afternoon.  I won’t ask what Lady Lundie would think of your being away all that time by yourself.  I will only remind you of two things.  You would be making a public matter of an investigation which it is essential to pursue as privately as possible; and, even if you happened to hit on the right cottage your inquiries would be completely baffled, and you would discover nothing.”

“Why not?”

“I know the Scottish peasant better than you do, Blanche.  In his intelligence and his sense of self-respect he is a very different being from the English peasant.  He would receive you civilly, because you are a young lady; but he would let you see, at the same time, that he considered you had taken advantage of the difference between your position and his position to commit an intrusion.  And if Miss Silvester had appealed, in confidence, to his hospitality, and if he had granted it, no power on earth would induce him to tell any person living that she was under his roof—­without her express permission.”

“But, uncle, if it’s of no use making inquiries of any body, how are we to find her?”

“I don’t say that nobody will answer our inquiries, my dear—­I only say the peasantry won’t answer them, if your friend has trusted herself to their protection.  The way to find her is to look on, beyond what Miss Silvester may be doing at the present moment, to what Miss Silvester contemplates doing—­let us say, before the day is out.  We may assume, I think (after what has happened), that, as soon as she can leave this neighborhood, she assuredly will leave it.  Do you agree, so far?”

“Yes! yes!  Go on.”

“Very well.  She is a woman, and she is (to say the least of it) not strong.  She can only leave this neighborhood either by hiring a vehicle or by traveling on the railway.  I propose going first to the station.  At the rate at which your pony gets over the ground, there is a fair chance, in spite of the time we have lost, of my being there as soon as she is—­assuming that she leaves by the first train, up or down, that passes.”