-and upset--"

Dr. Ashton paused. Val Elster looked rather surprised.

"How could it upset, sir? The skiffs are as safe as this floor. I don't
fear that in the least: what I do fear is that Edward may be in some
out-of-the-way nook, insensible from pain, and won't be found until
daylight. Fancy, a whole night out of doors, in that state! He might be
half-dead with cold by the morning."

Dr. Ashton shook his head in dissent. His dislike of boating seemed just
now to be rising into horror.

"What are you going to do now, Elster?" inquired Captain Dawkes.

"Go to the mill again, I think, and find out if any one saw Hartledon
leave the skiff, and which way he took. One of the servants can run down
to Hillary's the while."

Dr. Ashton rose, bowing for permission to Lady Kirton; and the gentlemen
with one accord rose with him, the same purpose in the mind of all--that
of more effectually scouring the ground between the mill and Hartledon.
The countess-dowager felt that she should like to box the ears of every
one of them. The idea of danger in connection with Lord Hartledon had
not yet penetrated to her brain.

At this moment, before they had left the room, there arose a strange wild
sound from without--almost an unearthly sound--that seemed to come from
several voices, and to be bearing round the house from the river-path.
Mrs. O'Moore put down her knife and fork, and rose up with a startled
cry.

"There's nothing to be alarmed at," said the dowager. "It is those Irish
harvesters. I know their horrid voices, and dare say they are riotously
drunk. Hartledon ought to put them in prison for it."

The sounds died away into silence. Mrs. O'Moore took her hands from her
eyes, where they had been pressed. "Don't you know what it is, Lady
Kirton? It is the Irish death-wail!"

It rose again, louder than before, for those from whom it came were
nearing the house--a horribly wailing sound, ringing out in the silence
of the night. Mrs. O'Moore crouched into her chair again, and hid her
terrified face. She was not Irish, and had never heard that sound but
once, and that was when her child died.

"She is right," cried her husband, the O'Moore; "that is the death-wail.
Hark! it is for a chieftain; they mourn the loss of one high in the land.
And--they are coming here! Oh, Elster! can DEATH have overtaken your
brother?"

The gentlemen had stood spell-bound, listening to the sound, their faces
a mixture of surprise and creduli