Miss Rose’s face was very white, but her eyes were brave and smiling.  “It’s all right, Martha, dear.  She will be back with you to-morrow, I hope.  We have sent to the police; they are to take the matter up, and see it through, and we have telegraphed to Belmouth, and Woodleigh, and Crinnock, to tell the police there to look out for the man, and stop him.”

Mrs. Perry moaned with disappointment, she could not help it, when she thought of poor Huldah, every moment going further and further from them all.  Longing, hoping, expecting every moment that someone would overtake them and save her, straining her ears to hear help coming,—­and then, at last, in utter hopeless despair realising that she was left to herself, helpless, broken-hearted!  She would not know that it was only for one night, and that help was coming in the morning.

Martha tried to smile back at Miss Rose, and to seem pleased, but her misery was too great.  Then an idea came to her, which brought her swiftly to her feet, with new hope in her heart.  Perhaps, oh, perhaps, Huldah and Dick might manage again to escape!  If they did, they would go to her, surely!  Of course she should be at home to receive them!  She told Miss Rose, and though Miss Rose scarcely believed it possible, she thought it kinder to humour her,—­besides which there was just the chance,—­a chance which could not be missed.

So the two went back to the cottage, where the lamplight still shone out cheerfully through the open door.  For a moment hope leaped in their hearts, then a glance round the little kitchen assured them that it was deserted still, and hope died down again.

“Never mind; morning will soon be here,” said Miss Rose, hopefully, “and ‘joy cometh with the morning.’  Now I am going to make up a good fire, and I will read to you, and you must try, Martha, dear, to listen, and not to think of anything else.”

She made Martha comfortable in the old armchair, with her feet upon a stool, and a shawl about her knees, then she took down the well-worn Bible, and began to read.  Her sweet voice rose and fell evenly, soothingly; for more than an hour she read on, unwearied, never faltering, selecting all the most helpful and comforting passages she could find; and by-and-by Martha Perry’s face grew less drawn and anxious, her sad eyes grew tired, then the lids closed in a blessed, peaceful slumber, and Miss Rose’s voice ceased, and silence fell on the little cottage.

The night sped on, the cold grew greater, the darkness deeper.  Miss Rose sat quietly at the table, the open Bible before her, keeping watch over the sleeping woman and the fire, her ear always alert for a sound outside.  Her hearing grew so strained that over and over again she thought she heard footsteps coming, Huldah’s quick, brisk step and Dick’s pat-pat patter; again and again she tip-toed to the door, and opening it wide peered out into the darkness.  But no real sound broke the silence, save the hoot of an owl, and by-and-by the chirping of the waking birds.