“What, sirrah,” exclaimed the latter; “did you hear what I said?”

“I did, sir,” replied the man, still more confused; “but, I thought, your honor, that—­”

“You despicable scoundrel!” said his master, stamping, “what means this?  You thought!  What right, sir, have you to think, or to do anything but obey your orders from me.  It was not to think, sir, I brought you here, but to do your duty as footman.  Fetch Miss Gourlay’s maid, sir, immediately.  Say I desire to speak with her.”

“She is not within, sir,” replied the man trembling.

“Then where is she, sir?  Why is she absent from her charge?”

“I cannot tell, sir.  We thought, sir—­”

“Thinking again, you scoundrel!—­speak out, however.”

“Why, the truth is, your honor, that neither Miss Gourlay nor she has been here since Tuesday night last.”

The baronet had been walking to and fro, as was his wont, but this information paralyzed him, as if by a physical blow on the brain.  He now went, or rather tottered over, to his arm-chair, into which he dropped rather than sat, and stared at Gibson the footman as if he had forgotten the intelligence just conveyed to him.  In fact, his confusion was such—­so stunning was the blow—­that it is possible he did forget it.

“What is that, Gibson?” said he; “tell me; repeat what you said.”

“Why, your honor,” replied Gibson, “since last Tuesday night neither Miss Gourlay nor her maid has been in this house.”

“Was there no letter left, nor any verbal information that might satisfy us as to where they have gone?”

“Not any, sir, that I am aware of.”

“Was her room examined?”

“I cannot say, sir.  You know, sir, I never enter it unless when I am rung for by Miss Gourlay; and that is very rarely.”

“Do you think, Gibson, that there is any one in the house that knows more of this matter than you do?”

Gibson shook his head, and replied, “As to that, Sir Thomas, I cannot say.”

The baronet was not now in a rage.  The thing was impossible; not within the energies of nature.  He was stunned, stupefied, rendered helpless.

“I think,” he proceeded, “I observed a girl named Nancy—­I forget what else, Nancy something—­that Miss Gourlay seemed to like a good deal.  Send her here.  But before you do so, may I beg to know why her father, her natural guardian and protector, was kept so long in ignorance of her extraordinary disappearance?  Pray, Mr. Gibson, satisfy me on that head?”

“I think, sir,” replied Gibson, most un-gallantly shifting the danger of the explanation from his own shoulders to the pretty ones of Nancy Forbes—­“I think, sir, Nancy Forbes, the girl you speak of, may know more about the last matter than I do.”

“What do you mean by the last matter?”

“Why, sir, the reason why we did not tell your honor of it sooner—­”