oubt of it! The Squire and Forest.
What could they be about at that hour of the morning? They were
going, no doubt, to inspect the barricades! Yet Forest himself had
told her that nothing would induce _him_ to take a hand in the
'row.'

It was strange; but she was too weary and depressed to give it much
thought. What was she going to do now? The world seemed emptily open
before her once more, chill and lonely as the autumn morning.

CHAPTER IX

On the following morning the breakfast at Mannering was a very tame
and silent affair. Forest was not in attendance, and the under
housemaid, who commonly replaced him when absent, could not explain
his non-appearance. He and his wife lived in a cottage beyond the
stables, and all that could be said was that he 'had not come in.'

The Squire also was absent. But as his breakfast habits were
erratic, owing to the fact that he slept badly and was often up and
working at strange seasons of the night, neither of his daughters
took any notice. Elizabeth did not feel inclined to say anything of
her own observations in the small hours. If the Squire and Forest
had been working at the barricade together, they were perhaps
sleeping off their exertions. Or the Squire was already on the spot,
waiting for the fray? Meanwhile, out of doors, a thick grey mist
spread over the park.

So she sat silent like the other two--(Mrs. Gaddesden was of course
in bed)--wondering from time to time when and how she should
announce her departure.

Pamela meanwhile was thinking of the letter she would have to write
to Desmond about the day's proceedings, and was impatient to be off
as soon as possible for the scene of action. Once or twice it
occurred to her to notice that Miss Bremerton was looking rather
pale and depressed. But the fact only made Pamela feel prickly. 'If
father does get into a row, what does it really matter to her.
She's not responsible!--she's not one of us!'

Immediately after breakfast, Pamela disappeared. She made her way
quietly through the park, where the dank mist still clung to the
trees from which the leaf was dropping silently, continuously. The
grass was all cobwebs. Every now and then the head of a deer would
emerge from the dripping fern only to be swallowed up again in the
fog.

Could a motor-plough work in a fog?

Presently, she who knew every inch of the ground and every tree upon
it, became aware that she was close to the Chetworth gate. Suddenly
the