From dusk till moonrise did his friends seek for him, exploring every corner of the field and the streets, and asking all whom they knew if they had seen him. Hugh was well known and popular in Oxford, and even the Chancellor and the Proctors gave a passing assistance in the search; but at length the party had to pause and look at each other in blank dismay. "He has been spirited away!" said Amalric, beneath his breath. "This is the doing of Roger de Horn," quoth Jack, between his shut teeth. CHAPTER X. _THE FAIR OF ST. FRIDESWYDE._ "I Tell thee the fault is thine own. Thou couldst have saved him an thou wouldst!" "Thou art cruel to me, Lotta--cruel, cruel!" wailed Linda. "As though I had not enough to bear without these taunts!" "Taunts! they are true words every one, and I did warn thee before. If thou hadst given thyself to honest Roger, thou mightest have saved thy lover." Linda's pale face flushed; she wrung her hands together; her eyes, that were sunken and hollow, flashed suddenly. "Honest Roger, quotha! and he little better than a common assassin! I hated and feared him long ere I saw Hugh. Wouldst thou have had me betroth myself to a murderer?" There was an answering flash in Lotta's eyes. "To save the man I loved from death, _I_ would have promised anything," she cried--"ANYTHING!" "So would not I," answered Linda, drawing a deep sigh. "I dare not sware a falsehood--not even for his sake. Nor would he wish it of me. There are things worse than death." "Ay, verily there be," answered Lotta significantly; "who knows but what thy dainty lover (as thou dost call him) may even now be suffering some such fate." Linda started and gazed earnestly at her sister. "Lotta, what meanest thou? Speak! What dost thou know?" "I know nothing," was the dogged reply, and a hard gleam shone in Lotta's eyes. The likeness between the twin sisters was growing less and less every week. Linda had grown pale and drooping of late, and went about heavily, as one in whom the vigour of life is sapped; whilst Lotta was almost as blooming as of old, save that her beauty was harder in character, her laugh more forced, and her speech more reckless. Some thought her more bewitching than ever, but Linda was of a different opinion. She began to fear her sister, and to suspect that Lotta hated her with that cruel sort of hatred which is born of jealousy.