“Toby!” he whispered, drawing him aside, “we have lost Lilian!  She may be at your house; come with us!”

Voiceless with astonishment, Mr. Liversedge followed, seated himself in the cab.  Five minutes brought them to his house.

“Go in and ask,” said Quarrier.

Toby returned in a moment, followed by his wife.

“She hasn’t been here.  What the deuce does it all mean?  I can’t understand you.  Why, where should she have gone?”

Again Denzil drew him aside.

“Get a boatman, with lights and drags, and row round as fast as possible to Bale Water!”

“Good heavens!  What are you talking about?”

“Do as I tell you, without a minute’s delay!  Take this cab.  I shall be there long before you.”

Mrs. Liversedge was talking with Mrs. Wade, who would say nothing but that Lilian had disappeared.  At Denzil’s bidding the cab was transferred to Toby, who, after whispering with his wife, was driven quickly away.  Quarrier refused to enter the house.

“We shall find another cab near the Town Hall,” he said to Mrs. Wade.  “Good-night, Molly!  I can’t talk to you now.”

The two hastened off.  When they were among the people again, Mrs. Wade caught sentences that told her the issue of the day.  “Majority of over six hundred!—­Well done, Quarrier!—­Quarrier for ever!” Without exchanging a word, they gained the spot where one or two cabs still waited, and were soon speeding along the Rickstead Road.

“She may be at the cottage,” was all Denzil said on the way.

But no; Lilian was not at the cottage.  Quarrier stood in the porch, looking about him as if he imagined that the lost one might be hiding somewhere near.

“I shall go—­over there,” he said.  “It will take a long time.”

“What?”——­

“Liversedge is rowing round, with drags.—­Go in and wait.—­You may be wrong.”

“I didn’t say I thought it!  It was only a fear—­a dreadful possibility.”

Again she burst into tears.

“Go in and rest, Mrs. Wade,” he said, more gently.  “You shall know —­if anything”——­

And, with a look of unutterable misery, he turned away.

Lilian might have taken refuge somewhere in the fields.  It seemed a wild unlikelihood, but he durst not give up hope.  Though his desire was to reach the waterside as quickly as possible, he searched on either hand as he went by the path, and once or twice he called in a loud voice “Lilian!” The night was darker now than when Mrs. Wade had passed through the neighbouring field; clouds had begun to spread, and only northwards was there a space of starry brilliance.

He came in sight of the trees along the bank, and proceeded at a quicker step, again calling Lilian’s name more loudly.  Only the soughing wind replied to him.

The nearest part of the water was that where it was deepest, where the high bank had a railing; the spot where Mrs. Wade and Lilian had stood together on their first friendly walk.  Denzil went near, leaned across the rail, and looked down into featureless gloom.  Not a sound beneath.