John Forest made no comment, he was too desperate for that.  He knew well enough that if his quiet, patient little Nan had gone away, she must be in a state of mind out of which tragedies come.  He would go and rouse Jim Lincoln, who slept in the stable loft, and they would search for her.  Mrs. Forest watched her husband disappear in the dim starlight, and then went back to the kitchen.  Vague fears took possession of her.  She dreaded she knew not what.  All her unkindness to Nancy, culminating in last night’s blow, seemed to rise up against her.  Even as to the taking of the money, Nancy had had her father’s sanction and might have thought that enough.  But Nancy denied having touched the money; what if, after all, she had spoken the truth! She had always been particularly truthful in even the smallest matters.  Mrs. Forest would try not to think any more; it was too painful.  She would reach down her knitting and try to “do” a bit.

She rose and took down the half-knit stocking, but the spare needle was missing.  She felt with her hand upon the chimney-piece, but could not find it.  Then she mounted a chair and searched.  It was nowhere to be seen.  “It may have slipped into the nick at the back,” she thought, and she got a skewer and poked it into the narrow groove.  Out fell the needle—­and something else which made a clinking sound as it fell upon the brick floor.  She stooped to see what it was, and there glittering in the firelight lay the missing half-sovereign.

* * * * *

When Fred Hurst had seen Messrs. Hermann and Scheiner, he was in the highest possible spirits:  a whole future seemed to open out before him.

It may appear that Fred was conceited, and “too sure;” but we must record that he went to a jeweller’s and bought a little pearl ring for Nancy, meaning to place it on her third finger next day when her lips should have given him the promise he knew her heart had long since given.  Having made his purchase he took train from Liverpool Street to Exboro’, from which place he would have to walk to Shenton, where he could not arrive until one o’clock in the morning.  He had performed some miles of his walk across the hills, and was within an appreciable distance of Braley Brook, when he observed a dark figure crouching on a fallen tree.  He was at first a little startled, for it was most unusual to meet anyone in this place, above all at such an hour:  it was after midnight.  On coming nearer he saw that the figure was that of a woman.  It might be one of the cottagers from Shenton—­who had been to Exboro’ and been taken ill on the way home—­he would see.

He came close and touched the crouching figure, and asked gently, “Are you ill?  Can I do anything for you?”

The figure started violently and looked up at him, and in the starlight he recognised the face of Nancy Forest.

In a moment he was seated on the fallen tree beside her, and had placed his arm about her.  “Nancy, dearest Nancy,” he cried, pressing burning kisses on her cold cheek—­the first he had ever given her.  “Nancy, speak to me; tell me what is the meaning of your being here.”