But, when a week passed, and still no tidings were heard of him, and when, moreover, it came to be known that the late governess of the Mainwarings had left Beckham by the same train, and, as appeared later, in the same carriage, then the people of the village and the people in the town began to chatter, George to swear, and the Vicar of Garstone to look very grave. Mrs. Mainwaring wrote to the aunt to whose house Miss Lane had said she was going, and received in answer the news that the girl had not arrived, but had written, without giving her address, to say she was in lodgings in London. And Mrs. Mainwaring repented her abrupt harshness most bitterly, and did not need the reproaches of her husband, who blamed now his own inaction in allowing the young girl-governess’ abrupt dismissal. Joan and Betty ceased their snappish comments on her, and talked together in whispers about her. And at the Grange they wondered how Harry was getting on without any money, for they knew he had only a small sum with him on the day he left Beckham. Then came a letter from a friend of Sir George’s, saying that Harry had been seen in Paris, where he seemed to be enjoying himself very much. And then an event happened which, for the time, turned all thoughts away from the truant son. Sir George, who passed most of his time on horseback, was riding home one afternoon on a horse which had carried him safely through many a hard day’s hunting, when, in taking a fence, with a ditch on the further side, over which they had gone easily time after time together, the horse slipped on landing, and rolled into the ditch on the top of his rider. Sir George tried to rise, but found that he was too much hurt to do so; he called for help, but fainted with pain before any came. At last a man who was passing with a cart saw him, and brought others to the spot by his shouts. They carried him home to the Grange, the doctor was ridden for with all speed, and, before night came, all Garstone knew that the baronet’s life was in danger. Day after day he lingered on, though the hope of his recovery grew slender; hour after hour he lay conscious, but silent to all. The only person he asked for was the missing Harry. Every morning he asked the same questions. “Has Harry come back? Has any one heard from him?” And every morning the reply was the same. There were no tidings of him. At last one evening George entered his father’s room with a face dark with ill news. Sir George knew that something had happened which his son scarcely dared to tell him. His eyes brightened with stern eagerness. “Well, speak out. You have heard news of Harry--bad news?” “Yes, bad news.” “Is he dead?” “No.” “Worse?” “I--I think so; I am afraid so.” “Go on. I am not afraid to hear.” “I have just received a letter from Stanmer & Lloyd.” “Ah”--the sick man drew a sharp breath--“the bankers! Well?” “They wrote about a check which----” “Was forged?”