r. Oh,
no, spiritually directing each other--that is the correct phrase. And
when the roar of the village rising _en masse_ against its formidable
neighbours of the Grange came to their ears, they had just got the job
done for the month, and were sitting down to a good cup of tea, which
Miss Ablethorpe, the Hayfork's sister, had brewed for them.

Immediately divining the cause, Mr. Ablethorpe dashed across the
fields, leaving Mr. De la Poer to act as a drag to the armed villagers.
It was evident that he had been successful in his mission; for when the
mob poured over the drawbridge, which was hospitably down as if to
invite them across, they found at Deep Moat Grange a house empty,
swept, and garnished.

In the house they found spotless chambers, which testified to the good
housekeeping of Miss Aphra Orrin--full pantries, well-filled larders,
the milk standing to cream on the stone slabs of the dairy, butter in
lordly dishes on great squares of Parton slate, the quietest, the most
innocent house in all the parish of Breckonside.

Nor did they find anything suspicious in all the chambers of the house,
though they went everywhere--into Mr. Stennis's workroom, which had the
windows tightly barred, but which, when thrown open, revealed nothing
but a spare wooden settle in a corner, and on a wonderful hand loom a
half-worked pattern, such as only Hobby could weave, with crowns of
flowers, roses and lilies, and on a scroll the words: "To Elsie
Stennis, on her marriage. The gift of her affectionate grandfather."

But the rest was wanting. I stood and wondered as the tide ebbed away
to other rooms--first to whom Elsie Stennis was to be married, and
whether the inscription on that half-woven wedding present had anything
to do with her disappearance in company with the granite-faced woman as
reported by Frankie Leslie on his way through the meadows.

I even went so far as to suspect Mr. Ablethorpe. He had always been
fond of Elsie. He had always protected her enemies, those whose
interest it was to deprive her of her heritage. Perhaps his very
pretence of celibacy was only a cover for a deeper design of getting
hold of the riches of the Golden Farmer!

But all the turmoil, and the thundering blows of the fore-hammer
wielded by Ebie McClintoch discovered nothing--not one of the mad
sisters, not their leader and protectress, Miss Orrin, not Mad Jeremy
himself. And, of course, no one expected to see anything of Mr.
St