He walked hither and thither, often calling and standing still to listen.  The whole sky was now obscured, and the wind grew keener.  Afraid of losing himself, he returned to the high bank and there waited, his eyes fixed in the direction whence the boat must come.  The row along the river Bale from Polterham would take more than an hour.

As he stood sunk in desperate thoughts, a hand touched him.  He turned round, exclaiming “Lilian!”

“It is I,” answered Mrs. Wade’s voice.

“Why have you come?  What good can you do here?”

“Don’t be angry with me!” she implored.  “I couldn’t stay at home—­ I couldn’t!”

“I don’t mean to speak angrily.—­Think,” he added, in low shaken voice, “if that poor girl is lying”——­

A sob broke off his sentence; he pointed down into the black water.  Mrs. Wade uttered no reply, but he heard the sound of her weeping.

They stood thus for a long time, then Denzil raised his hand.

“Look!  They are coming!”

There was a spot of light far off, moving .slowly.

“I can hear the oars,” he added presently.

It was in a lull of the soughing wind.  A minute after there came a shout from far across the black surface.  Denzil replied to it, and so at length the boat drew near.

Mr. Liversedge stood up, and Quarrier talked with him in brief, grave sentences.  Then a second lantern was lighted by the boatman, and presently the dragging began.

Wrapped in a long cloak, Mrs. Wade stood at a distance, out of sight of the water, but able to watch Denzil.  When cold and weariness all but overcame her, she first leaned against the trunk of a tree, then crouched there on the ground.  For how long, she had no idea.  A little rain fell, and afterwards the sky showed signs of clearing; stars were again visible here and there.  She had sunk into a half-unconscious state, when Quarrier’s voice spoke to her.

“You must go home,” he said, hoarsely.  “It’s over.”

She started up.

“Have they found”——­

“Yes.—­Go home at once.”

He turned away, and she hurried from the spot with bowed head.

CHAPTER XXVI

“Oh, depend upon it,” said Mrs. Tenterden, in her heavy, consequential way, “there’s more behind than we shall ever know!  ‘Unsound mind,’ indeed She was no more of unsound mind than I am!”

It was after church, and Mrs. Mumbray, alone this morning, had offered the heavy lady a place in her brougham.  The whole congregation had but one topic as they streamed into the unconsecrated daylight.  Never was such eagerness for the strains of the voluntary which allowed them to start up from attitudes of profound meditation, and look round for their acquaintances.  Yesterday’s paper—­the Polterham Examiner unfortunately—­ reported the inquest, and people had to make the most of those meagre paragraphs—­until the Mercury came out, when fuller and less considerate details might be hoped for.  The whispering, the nodding, the screwing up of lips, the portentous frowning and the shaking of heads—­no such excitement was on record!