I was looking impatiently at the clock; it was yet two hours before the train by which Mrs. Ashleigh proposed to leave. A loud ring at my bell! I opened the door. Mrs. Ashleigh rushed in, falling on my breast. "Lilian! Lilian!" "Heavens! What has happened?" "She has left! she is gone,--gone away! Oh, Allen, how?--whither? Advise me. What is to be done?" "Come in--compose yourself--tell me all,--clearly, quickly. Lilian gone,--gone away? Impossible! She must be hid somewhere in the house,--the garden; she, perhaps, did not like the journey. She may have crept away to some young friend's house. But I talk when you should talk: tell me all." Little enough to tell! Lilian had seemed unusually cheerful the night before, and pleased at the thought of the excursion. Mother and daughter retired to rest early: Mrs. Ashleigh saw Lilian sleeping quietly before she herself went to bed. She woke betimes in the morning, dressed herself, went into the next room to call Lilian--Lilian was not there. No suspicion of flight occurred to her. Perhaps her daughter might be up already, and gone downstairs, remembering something she might wish to pack and take with her on the journey. Mrs. Ashleigh was confirmed in this idea when she noticed that her own room door was left open. She went downstairs, met a maidservant in the hall, who told her, with alarm and surprise, that both the street and garden doors were found unclosed. No one had seen Lilian. Mrs. Ashleigh now became seriously uneasy. On remounting to her daughter's room, she missed Lilian's bonnet and mantle. The house and garden were both searched in vain. There could be no doubt that Lilian had gone,--must have stolen noiselessly at night through her mother's room, and let herself out of the house and through the garden. "Do you think she could have received any letter, any message, any visitor unknown to you?" "I cannot think it. Why do you ask? Oh, Allen, you do not believe there is any accomplice in this disappearance! No, you do not believe it. But my child's honour! What will the world think?" Not for the world cared I at that moment. I could think only of Lilian, and without one suspicion that imputed blame to her. "Be quiet, be silent; perhaps she has gone on some visit and will return. Meanwhile, leave inquiry to me." CHAPTER LV. It seemed incredible that Lilian could wander far without being observed. I soon ascertained that she had not gone away by the railway--by any public conveyance--had hired no carriage; she must therefore be still in the town, or have left it on foot. The greater part of the day was consumed in unsuccessful inquiries, and faint hopes that she would return; meanwhile the news of her disappearance had spread: how could such news fail to do so? An acquaintance of mine met me under the archway of Monks' Gate. He wrung my hand and looked at me with great compassion.