al impatience, aggravated by his alarm; "if you had
behaved straight-forward, and like a man of common sense, this would not
have happened!"

"God forgive you, young man, if your reflections are unjust," said the
traveller, quitting the hold he had laid upon Mowbray's coat; "and God
forgive me too, if I have done wrong while endeavouring to do for the
best!--But may not Miss Mowbray have gone down to the Well? I will order
my horses, and set off instantly."

"Do, do," said Mowbray, recklessly; "I thank you, I thank you;" and
hastily traversing the garden, as if desirous to get rid at once of his
visitor and his own thoughts, he took the shortest road to a little
postern-gate, which led into the extensive copsewood, through some part
of which Clara had caused a walk to be cut to a little summer-house
built of rough shingles, covered with creeping shrubs.

As Mowbray hastened through the garden, he met the old man by whom it
was kept, a native of the south country, and an old dependent on the
family. "Have you seen my sister?" said Mowbray, hurrying his words on
each other with the eagerness of terror.

"What's your wull, St. Ronan's?" answered the old man, at once dull of
hearing, and slow of apprehension.

"Have you seen Miss Clara?" shouted Mowbray, and muttered an oath or two
at the gardener's stupidity.

"In troth have I," replied the gardener, deliberately; "what suld ail
me to see Miss Clara, St. Ronan's?"

"When, and where?" eagerly demanded the querist.

"Ou, just yestreen, after tey-time--afore ye cam hame yoursell galloping
sae fast," said old Joseph.

"I am as stupid as he, to put off my time in speaking to such an old
cabbage-stock!" said Mowbray, and hastened on to the postern-gate
already mentioned, leading from the garden into what was usually called
Miss Clara's walk. Two or three domestics, whispering to each other, and
with countenances that showed grief, fear, and suspicion, followed their
master, desirous to be employed, yet afraid to force their services on
the fiery young man.

At the little postern he found some trace of her he sought. The pass-key
of Clara was left in the lock. It was then plain that she must have
passed that way; but at what hour, or for what purpose, Mowbray dared
not conjecture. The path, after running a quarter of a mile or more
through an open grove of oaks and sycamores, attained the verge of the
large brook, and became there steep and rocky, difficult to the inf