If Bubble’s letter was funny, Hilda had no heart to see the fun.  Her tears flowed fast as she realized the fate of her pretty little pet and playfellow.  The vindictive wretch, too cowardly to face her again, had taken his revenge upon the harmless little dog.  All day long poor Jock had been in that fearful place!  He was still only a puppy, and she knew he could not possibly get out if he had really been thrown into the pit of the great wheel.  But—­and she gave a cry of pain as the thought struck her—­perhaps it was only his lifeless body that was lying there.  Perhaps the ruffian had killed him, and thrown him down there afterwards.  She started up and paced the walk hurriedly, trying to think what she had best do.  Her first impulse was to fly at once to the glen; but that was impossible, as she must not, she felt, leave Dame Hartley.  No one was near:  they were quite alone.  Again she said, “I must wait; I must wait till Farmer Hartley comes home.”  But the waiting was harder now than it had been before.  She could do nothing but pace up and down, up and down, like a caged panther, stopping every few minutes to throw back her head and listen for the longed-for sound,—­the sound of approaching wheels.

Softly the shadows fell as the sun went down.  The purple twilight deepened, and the stars lighted their silver lamps, while all the soft night noises began to make themselves heard as the voices of day died away.  But Hilda had ears for only one sound.  At length, out of the silence (or was it out of her own fancy?) she seemed to hear a faint, clicking noise.  She listened intently:  yes, there it was again.  There was no mistaking the click of old Nancy’s hoofs, and with it was a dim suggestion of a rattle, a jingle.  Yes, beyond a doubt, the farmer was coming.  Hildegarde flew into the house, and met Dame Hartley just coming down the stairs.  “The farmer is coming,” she said, hastily; “he is almost here.  I am going to find Jock.  I shall be back—­” and she was gone before the astonished Dame could ask her a question.

Through the kitchen and out of the back porch sped the girl, only stopping to catch up a small lantern which hung on a nail, and to put some matches in her pocket.  Little Will followed her, barking hopefully, and together the two ran swiftly through the barn-yard and past the cow-shed, and took the path which led to the old mill.  The way was so familiar now to Hilda that she could have traversed it blindfold; and this was well for her, for in the dense shade of the beech-plantation it was now pitch dark.  The feathery branches brushed her face and caught the tendrils of her hair with their slender fingers.  There was something ghostly in their touch.  Hilda was not generally timid, but her nerves had been strung to a high pitch all day, and she had no longer full control of them.  She shivered, and bending her head low, called to the dog and hurried on.