Carteret.
The doctor said grace, and dinner proceeded. It was not half over when
Mr. Elster came in, in his light overcoat. Walking straight up to the
table, he stood by it, his face wearing a blank, perplexed look. A
momentary silence of expectation, and then many tongues spoke together.
"Where's your brother? Where's Lord Hartledon? Has he not come?"
"I don't know where he is," answered Val. "I was in hopes he had reached
home before me, but I find he has not. I can't make it out at all."
"Did he land at the mill?" asked Dr. Ashton.
"Yes, he must have done so, for the skiff is moored there."
"Then he's all right," cried the doctor; and there was a strangely-marked
sound of relief in his tones.
"Oh, he is all right," confidently asserted Percival. "The only question
is, where he can be. The miller was out this afternoon, and left his
place locked up; so that Hartledon could not get in, and had nothing for
it but to start home with his lameness, or sit down on the bank until
some one found him."
"He must have set off to walk."
"I should think so. But where has he walked to?" added Val. "I drove
slowly home, looking on either side of the road, but could see nothing of
him."
"What should bring him on the side of the road?" demanded the dowager.
"Do you think he would turn tramp, and take his seat on a heap of stones?
Where do you get your ideas from?"
"From common sense, ma'am.
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