“But Hetty—­Hetty Sorrel,” said Adam, abruptly; “Where is she?”

“I know nobody by that name,” said the old woman, wonderingly.  “Is it anybody ye’ve heared on at Snowfield?”

“Did there come no young woman here—­very young and pretty—­Friday was a fortnight, to see Dinah Morris?”

“Nay; I’n seen no young woman.”

“Think; are you quite sure?  A girl, eighteen years old, with dark eyes and dark curly hair, and a red cloak on, and a basket on her arm?  You couldn’t forget her if you saw her.”

“Nay; Friday was a fortnight—­it was the day as Dinah went away—­there come nobody.  There’s ne’er been nobody asking for her till you come, for the folks about know as she’s gone.  Eh dear, eh dear, is there summat the matter?”

The old woman had seen the ghastly look of fear in Adam’s face.  But he was not stunned or confounded:  he was thinking eagerly where he could inquire about Hetty.

“Yes; a young woman started from our country to see Dinah, Friday was a fortnight.  I came to fetch her back.  I’m afraid something has happened to her.  I can’t stop.  Good-bye.”

He hastened out of the cottage, and the old woman followed him to the gate, watching him sadly with her shaking head as he almost ran towards the town.  He was going to inquire at the place where the Oakbourne coach stopped.

No!  No young woman like Hetty had been seen there.  Had any accident happened to the coach a fortnight ago?  No.  And there was no coach to take him back to Oakbourne that day.  Well, he would walk:  he couldn’t stay here, in wretched inaction.  But the innkeeper, seeing that Adam was in great anxiety, and entering into this new incident with the eagerness of a man who passes a great deal of time with his hands in his pockets looking into an obstinately monotonous street, offered to take him back to Oakbourne in his own “taxed cart” this very evening.  It was not five o’clock; there was plenty of time for Adam to take a meal and yet to get to Oakbourne before ten o’clock.  The innkeeper declared that he really wanted to go to Oakbourne, and might as well go to-night; he should have all Monday before him then.  Adam, after making an ineffectual attempt to eat, put the food in his pocket, and, drinking a draught of ale, declared himself ready to set off.  As they approached the cottage, it occurred to him that he would do well to learn from the old woman where Dinah was to be found in Leeds:  if there was trouble at the Hall Farm—­he only half-admitted the foreboding that there would be—­the Poysers might like to send for Dinah.  But Dinah had not left any address, and the old woman, whose memory for names was infirm, could not recall the name of the “blessed woman” who was Dinah’s chief friend in the Society at Leeds.