Then ensued what seemed, to the sickening suspense of the two Delavies, a senseless Babel of tongues on all sides; but it ended in the friseur putting up his implements, the trades-folk leaving the selected goods unpaid for, and the poor poet bowing himself within reach of the monkey, who made a clutch at his MS., chattered over it, and tore it into fragments.  There was a peal of mirth—­loudest from Lady Aresfield—­ but Sir Amyas sprang forward with gentlemanly regrets, apologies, and excuses, finally opening the door and following the poor man out of the room to administer the guinea from his own pocket, while Colonel Mar exclaimed, “Here, Archer, boy, run after him with this.  The poor devil has won it by producing a smile from those divine lips—­such as his jungle might never have done—–­”

“Fie! fie!  Mar,” said the Lady, shaking her fan at him, “the child will repeat it to him.”

“The better sport if he do,” said Colonel Mar, carelessly; “he may term himself a very Orpheus charming the beasts, so that they snatch his poems from him!”

Then, as Sir Amyas returned, Lady Belamour entreated her dear Countess to allow him to conduct her to the withdrawing room, and there endeavour to entertain her.  The Colonel could not but follow, and the Major and Betty found themselves at length alone with her Ladyship.

“I trust you have come to relieve my mind as to our poor runaway,” she began.

“Would to Heaven I could!” said the Major.

“Good Heavens!  Then she has never reached you!”

“Certainly not.

“Nor her sister?  Oh, surely she is with her sister!”

“No, madam, her sisters knows nothing of her.  Cousin, you have children of your own!  I entreat of you to tell me what you have done with her.”

“How should I have done anything with her?  I who have been feeding all this time on the assurance that she had returned to you.”

“How could a child like her do so?”

“We know she had money,” said Lady Belamour.

“And we know,” said Betty, fixing her eyes on the lady, “that though she escaped, on the first alarm, as far as Sedhurst, and was there seen, she had decided on returning to Bowstead and giving herself up to you Ladyship.”

“Indeed?  At what time was that?” exclaimed my Lady.

“Some time in the afternoon of Sunday!”

“Ah! then I must have left Bowstead.  I was pledged to her Majesty’s card-table, and royal commands cannot be disregarded, so I had to go away in grievous anxiety for my poor boy.  She meant to return to Bowstead, did she?  Ah.  Does not an idea strike you that old Amyas Belamour may know more than he confesses!  He has been playing a double game throughout.”

“He is as anxious to find the dear girl as we are madam.”