CHAPTER XIX.
ELLEN'S FLIGHT.
After all the fatigues and adventures of the day before, Charles sleptwell--long pleasant dreams of roaming in sunny places on summer daysfell to his happy lot--and so he was not pleased when he found himselfshaken by the shoulder.
It was William come to wake him. Charles was at once alarmed to see himthere, and started up, saying--
"Is anything the matter, Will? Is my father ill?"
"The Master's well, I trust, Master Charles. I want to tell yousomething that I want others to find out for themselves."
"What is it?" said Charles, seriously alarmed, for he had had hissuspicions lately, though he had dreaded to give them a name.
"Ellen is gone!"
"My dear lad," said Charles, hurriedly, "what makes you think so? Sincewhen have you missed her?"
"Since yesterday afternoon."
"Have you been in her room?"
"Yes. She has not been to bed, and the window is open just as it wasyesterday morning at bed-making time."
"Hush--wait! There may be time yet. Go down and saddle two horses atonce. I will tell you what I know as we ride, but there is not time now.Tell me only one thing, Is there any one she would be likely to go to atCoombe?"
"No one that I know of."
William departed to get the horses. Charles had suddenly thought of thesolitary female figure he had seen passing along the dizzy sheep-paththe day before, and he determined to follow that till he lost sight ofit.
"For the poor dear girl's sake--for the honour of this old house--Iwonder who is at the bottom of all this? I must tell Marston," he said,when he was out on the landing. "George, tell them to get me some coffeeinstantly. I am going out hunting."
Marston thought as Charles did. The right thing to do would be to followher, see that she wanted for nothing, and leave her brother with her fora time. "He won't quarrel with her now, you'll see. He is a good fellow,mind you, Charles, though he did lose his temper with her that night."
So they rode forth side by side into the wild winter's morning. The rainhad ceased for a time, but the low dark clouds were hurrying swiftlybefore the blast, and eddying among the loftier tors and summits. Thewind was behind them, and their way was east, across the lofty downs.
"William," said Charles, at last, "who is at the bottom of this?"
"I don't know, Master Charles. If I did there would be mischief, unlessit was one of two."
"Ay, Will, but it ain't. You don't think it is Cuthbert?"
"No, no! He, forsooth! Father Mackworth knows, I believe, more than wedo."
"You do not suspect him?"
"Certainly not. I did, but I don't now. I suspect he knows, as I said,more than we do. He has been speaking harshly to her about it."
They had arrived at the hill round which Charles suspected he had seenher pass the day before. It was impossible to pass round the promontoryon horseback in the best of weathers; now doubly so. They would have topass inland of it. They both pulled up their horses and looked. Thesteep slope of turf, the top of which, close over head, was hid byflying mists, trended suddenly downwards, and disappeared. Eight hundredfeet below was the raging sea.
As they stood there, the same thought came across both of them. It was adreadful place. They neither spoke at all, but spurred on faster, tillthe little grey village of Coombe, down at their feet, sheltered fromthe storm by the lofty hills around, opened to their view; and theypushed on down the steep rocky path.
No. No one had seen her yesterday at such a time. The streets would havebeen full of the miners coming from work; or, if she had come earlier,there would have been plenty of people to see her. It was a small place,and no stranger, they said, could ever pass through it unnoticed.
And, though they scoured the country far and wide, and though for monthsafter the fishermen fished among the quiet bays beneath the cliffs infear, lest they should find there something which should be carried insilent awe up the village, and laid quietly in the old churchyard,beneath the elm; yet Ellen was gone--gone from their ken like a summercloud. They thought it a pious fraud to tell Densil that she wasgone--with some excuse, I forget what, but which satisfied him. In aconclave held over the matter, Cuthbert seemed only surprised andshocked, but evidently knew nothing of the matter. Father Mackworth saidthat he expected something of the kind for some little time, and Williamheld his peace. The gossips in the village laid their heads together,and shook them. There was but one opinion there.
"Never again shall she put garland on; Instead of it she'll wear sad cypress now, And bitter elder broken from the bough."
Nora--poor old Nora--took to her bed. Father Mackworth was with hercontinually, but she sank and sank. Father Mackworth was called awayacross the moors, one afternoon, to an outlying Catholic tenant'sfamily; and, during his absence, William was sent to Charles to pray himto come, in God's name, to his mother. Charles ran across at once, butNora was speechless. She had something to say to Charles; but the greatSower, which shall sow us all in the ground, and tread us down, had Hishand heavy on her, and she could not speak. In the morning, when thegale had broken, and the white sea-birds were soaring and skimmingbetween the blue sky and the noble green, rolling sea, and the shipswere running up channel, and the fishing-boats were putting out gailyfrom the pier, and all nature was brilliant and beautiful, old Nora laydead, and her secret with her.
"Master Charles," said William, as they stood on the shore together,"she knew something, and Ellen knows it too, I very much suspect. Thetime will come, Master Charles, when we shall have to hunt her throughthe world, and get the secret from her."
"William, I would go many weary journeys to bring poor Ellen back intothe ways of peace. The fact of her being your sister would be enough tomake me do that."