Mr Huntingdon did not speak for a while, his thoughts were evidently troubling him. He remembered the last occasion of his son's sudden absence, and was now well aware that it had been care for his poor erring child's neglected little ones that had then called Amos away. Perhaps it might be so now. Perhaps that daughter herself, against whom his heart and home had been closed so long, might be ill or even dying. Perhaps she was longing for a father's smile, a father's expressed forgiveness. His heart felt very sore, and his breakfast lay untasted before him. As for Walter, he knew not what to say or think. He dared not speak his fears out loud lest he should wound his father, whose distress he could not help seeing. He would have volunteered to do anything and everything, only he did not know exactly where to begin or what to propose. At length Mr Huntingdon, turning to the old butler, who was moving about in a state of great uneasiness, said, "Do you know, Harry, at what hour Mr Amos left this morning?" "No, sir, not exactly. But when Jane came down early and went to open the front door, she found the chain and the bolts drawn and the key turned back. It was plain that some one had gone out that way very early." "And when did you get your note from Amos, Kate?" asked her brother. "My maid found it half slipped under my door when she came to call me," was the reply. "And is there nothing, then, to throw light on this sudden and strange act on Amos's part?" asked the squire. "Well, there is," she answered rather reluctantly. "My maid has found a little crumpled up sheet of paper, which Amos must have accidentally dropped as he left his room. I don't know whether I ought to have taken charge of it; but, as it is, the best thing I can do is to hand it to you."