“Good heavens, ma’am!” I cried, imagining all kinds of ill, “what is amiss?”

“Oh, Mr. Bold,” says the good lady, “I am so glad to see you.  We are in such trouble.”

“Have the Cluddes got her?” I asked, Mistress Lucy being uppermost in my thoughts.

“No, it is not so bad as that, though I fear that will be the end of it.  But she has left us, and I tremble to think of the poor child so far away, and among strangers.”

“Among strangers!  Pray, ma’am, explain,” I said, glad enough that my first fear was unfounded, but marveling much at what had happened.

“She left us six months ago,” Mrs. Allardyce went on.  “She has gone back to Jamaica.”

“To Jamaica!” I said.  “What on earth induced her to do that, ma’am?”

“’Twas that dreadful law case, Mr. Bold.  The squire lost the day.  I do not understand it myself, he will explain it all to you when he comes home:  he has indeed gone to Bridgenorth this very day to see his lawyer about it.  Oh, Mr. Bold, I am so distressed!  If I only knew she was safe I could bear the separation so much better.”

“I do not think you need be uneasy on that score,” I said.  “She has friends in Jamaica, as you know; the people there are all very kind; and you may be sure they will see to her happiness.”

“I am so glad to hear that,” said the lady.  “After all, she is no longer a child; she is twenty now, Mr. Bold, and has a will of her own, and great self reliance.  We had one letter from her, to say that she had arrived safely; that was three months ago:  I suppose there has not been time to receive another.”

“There has been time, certainly,” I replied, with some misgivings.  “Vessels leave Port Royal every week.  But her estate is situate a long way from the port, and maybe it is not convenient to send letters often.”

“’Tis the absence of letters that makes the squire so uneasy.  But for his being unwilling to leave me, I am sure he would have sailed to Jamaica himself to make sure that all is well.  He dotes on Lucy.  ’Tis a thousand pities that Roger’s military duties will not permit of his going out.  Do you think that Jamaica is a healthy place to live in, Mr. Bold?”

We were still talking when Mr. Allardyce returned.  He was heartily glad to see me, and at once poured out his tale of trouble.  The Court of Chancery, it appeared, had made Miss Lucy a ward, but instead of appointing Mr. Allardyce to be her guardian, it had given that office to Sir Richard Cludde, her paternal uncle.  Mr. Allardyce spoke of the judge with the most bitter obloquy; he was a cross-grained, dried-up old mummy, said the squire, without a drop of good red blood in his veins.

“He was prejudiced against us from the beginning, and when our counsel said that Lucy herself entreated to be placed formally under my guardianship the old wretch refused to listen, and said that girls were better seen and not heard.  I suppose he has a nagging wife, and serve him right!”