“But we know the reason of that, Mrs. Morgan,” replied the girl.  “It’s because Miss Gourlay refuses to marry Lord Dunroe, and because he’s afraid that she’ll run away with a very handsome gentleman that stops in the Mitre.  That’s what made him lock her up.”

“Don’t you breathe a syllable of that,” said the cautious Mrs. Morgan, “for fear you might get locked up yourself.  You know, nothing that happens in this family is ever to be spoken of to any one, on pain of Sir Thomas’s severest displeasure; and you have not come to this time of day without understanding what what means.  But don’t talk to me, or rather, don’t expect me to talk to you.  My head is very ill, and my pulse going at a rapid rate.  Another drink of that whey, Nancy; then see, if you can, what that noise means.”

Nancy, having handed her the whey, went to the closet window to reconnoitre; but the reader may judge of her surprise on seeing Sir Thomas himself moving about with a dark lantern, and giving directions to Gillespie, who was putting the horses to the carriage.  She returned to the housekeeper on tip-toe, her face brimful of mystery and delight.

“What do you think, Mrs. Morgan?  If there isn’t Sir Thomas himself walking about with a little lantern, and giving orders to Gillespie, who is yoking the coach.”

Mrs. Morgan could not refrain from smiling at this comical expression of yoking the coach; but her face soon became serious, and she said, with a sigh, “I hope in God this is no further act of violence against his angel of a daughter.  What else could he mean by getting out a carriage at this hour of the night?  Go and look again, Nancy, and see whether you may not also get a glimpse of Miss Gourlay.”

Nancy, however, arrived at the window only in time to see her master enter the carriage, and the carriage disappear out of the yard; but whether Miss Gourlay was in it along with him, the darkness of the night prevented her from ascertaining.  After some time, however, she threw out a suggestion, on which, with the consent of the patient, she immediately acted.  This was to discover, if possible, whether Miss Gourlay with her maid was in her own room or not.  She accordingly went with a light and stealthy pace to the door; and as she knew that its fair occupant always slept with a night-light in her chamber, she put her pretty eye to the keyhole, in order to satisfy herself on this point.  All, however, so far as both sight and hearing could inform her, was both dark and silent.  This was odd; nay, not only odd, but unusual.  She now felt her heart palpitate; she was excited, alarmed.  What was to be done?  She would take a bold step—­she would knock—­she would whisper through the key-hole, and set down the interruption to anxiety to mention Mrs. Morgan’s sudden and violent illness.  Well, all these remedies for curiosity were tried, all these, steps taken, and, to a certain extent, they were successful; for there could indeed be little doubt that Miss Gourlay and her maid were not in the apartment.  Everything now pertaining to the mysterious motions of Sir Thomas and his coachman was as clear as crystal.  He had spirited her away somewhere—­“placed her, the old brute, under some she-dragon or other, who would make her feed on raw flesh and cobwebs, with a view of reducing her strength and breaking her spirit.”