nd the
occasion had been lost; and how was it possible to explain the rudeness
with which Mr Wentworth had treated him? Gerald was still more seriously
troubled. When Mr Proctor left him, he walked up and down Grange Lane in
the quiet of the summer night, watching for his brother. Jack came home
smoking his cigar, dropping Wodehouse, whom the heir of the Wentworths
declined to call his friend, before he reached his aunts' door, and as
much surprised as it was possible for him to be, to find Gerald
lingering, meditating, along the silent road; but still Frank did
not come. By-and-by a hurried light gleamed in the window of the
summer-house, and sounds of commotion were audible in the orderly
dwelling of the Miss Wentworths; and the next thing that happened was
the appearance of Miss Leonora, also with a shawl over her head, at the
garden-door. Just then, when they were all going to bed, Collins, Miss
Dora's maid, had come to the drawing-room in search of her mistress. She
was not to be found anywhere, though her bonnets and all her outdoor
gear were safe in their place. For the first time in her life the entire
family were startled into anxiety on Miss Dora's account. As for Mrs
Gerald Wentworth, she jumped at once to the conclusion that the poor
lady was murdered, and that Frank must have something to do with it, and
filled the house with lamentations. Nobody went to bed, not even aunt
Cecilia, who had not been out of her room at eleven o'clock for
centuries. Collins had gone into the summer-house and was turning over
everything there as if she expected to find her mistress's body in the
cupboard or under the sofa; Lewis, the butler, was hunting through the
garden with a lantern, looking under all the bushes. No incident so
utterly unaccountable had occurred before in Miss Dora Wentworth's life.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

The first investigation into the character of the Rev. F. C.
Wentworth, Curate of St Roque's was fixed to take place in the vestry
of the parish church, at eleven o'clock on the morning of the day
which followed this anxious night. Most people in Carlingford were
aware that the Perpetual Curate was to be put upon his trial on that
sunny July morning; and there was naturally a good deal of curiosity
among the intelligent townsfolk to see how he looked, and what was the
aspect of the witnesses who were to bear testimony for or against him.
It is always interesting to the crowd to see how a man looks at a