‘No, ma’am. He isn’t in his bedroom, and what’s more, his bed wasn’t slept in last night. He isn’t in the library or the dining-room, and those three rooms are the only ones he ever uses. His habits, as you know, ma’am, are as regular as clockwork, as far as regards meals and so on. He takes his breakfast at nine o’clock, and goes from his breakfast to his library. He never left home in his life without letting me know beforehand. But he didn’t sleep in this house last night, and he’s not to be found in this house this morning.’ ‘He may have gone away last night with that strange gentleman,’ suggested Bella. ‘No, ma’am, that he didn’t, for I let the foreign gentleman out, and locked the door after him.’ ‘Have you searched the house? Mr. Harefield may have fallen down in a fit somewhere. It’s too dreadful to think of.’ ‘I’ve looked everywhere that was likely. There are only three rooms that he ever uses, as I said, ma’am. And I wouldn’t frighten Miss Harefield for the world. That’s why I came to consult you, ma’am, knowing you to be a clever young lady, and your father being my master’s lawyer.’ ‘Come,’ said Bella, seeing the two servants looking at her, as if for inspiration. ‘If Mr. Harefield has gone away on the spur of the moment, I dare say he has left a letter or a memorandum somewhere. Let us go round the house together, and look about. It was quite right of you not to disturb Miss Harefield.’ Bella led the way downstairs, followed by the two scared servants. Her heart was beating fast, agitated by nameless fears; but even in the midst of her fear she felt a kind of elation, a sense of new importance. Some great event was going to happen. This slow old ship, the Water House, was entering stormy seas, and she was at the helm. A sudden thought went through her heart like a knife. What if Mr. Harefield were to die? His death would mean wealth and freedom, love, liberty, all glad things that earth could give for Beatrix. It would mean union with Cyril Culverhouse. The pang of envy which pierced Bella’s little soul at that thought was an almost insupportable agony. She had endured the idea of their mutual love with secret pangs and heart-burnings, but with at least an outward patience, while all possibility of their union was afar off. But, to see them prosperous lovers, happy in each other; to hear their wedding bells, and to have to sit by and smile assentingly while her little world praised them and rejoiced in their happiness, would be too much. All these considerations passed through her mind as she went downstairs, with the housekeeper and butler behind her, on her way to the library, where, if any letter had been left by Mr. Harefield before his departure, it was most likely to be found.