s solemnly striking midnight
that the four searchers, who had set out so gaily and valiantly at
half-past seven, turned wearily in at their own gate. The thing they
did not believe possible had happened, and long before the hour they had
planned to stay out was over, they were hopelessly lost themselves, and
must, as Maud said with a groan, have walked miles and miles before they
found themselves quite by chance not far from the point where they had
first left the road.

They were tired and hungry, damp, and very cold; and the last time Edward
had tripped and tumbled headlong into a furze bush--they had each had so
many stumbles and falls that they had lost count of the number they had
had--he dropped his new bicycle lamp, and had been unable to find it
again. Their expedition could not therefore be termed a success, and Maud
said that the last straw would be if they heard directly they got in that
Margaret had been found hours ago.

"As, of course, she has been," said Edward, when turning the corner of
the drive they saw Geoffrey's bicycle leaning against the porch. "I
expect she's in the drawing-room with her grandfather. There seem to be
lights everywhere. Well, I'm going to make a bee-line for the dining-room
for grub. We had a very sketchy lunch, no tea, and no dinner, so I think
we've earned something."

So as soon as they got into the house, the three boys went off in the
direction of the dining-room, but Maud, although she was hungry enough
too, felt that she must first hear if Miss Anstruther had been found.
Considering that lights were burning everywhere, the house seemed
strangely silent, and Maud was beginning to wonder if every one had gone
to bed, when the door leading from the pantry opened, and Martin, without
seeing her, followed the three boys into the dining-room, closing the
door after him. Yes, that must be it, Maud thought--every one must have
gone to bed, and he had shut the door lest their voices might disturb the
household. She was just about to go to the dining-room too, when the
sound of some one crying violently in the drawing-room came to her ears,
and rather hesitatingly she opened the door and went in.

Hilary and Eleanor Carson were alone there together. The latter, with
her elbows on her knees and her head buried in her hands, was sitting
motionless in a chair near the fire, and Hilary was crouched in a
huddled-up position on the ground by a sofa into the cushions of which
she was so