‘It’s a very awkward position for old servants to find themselves placed in,’ said the butler. ‘It isn’t like my master to go out of the house and tell nobody, and leave his servants to puzzle and worry themselves about him. He has been eccentric of late years, but always the gentleman. And how could he go away, except on foot, which isn’t likely? I’ve been to the stables. He has not been out there. The horses are in their stalls. There’s no coach goes through Little Yafford. There’s no rail within five miles.’ ‘I wish I knew what to advise you,’ said Bella, ‘but indeed I do not. It’s quite a dreadful situation for you to be in. And Miss Harefield will be coming downstairs presently, and must be told. I really think you ought to send for my father. He would know what to do, perhaps.’ ‘I couldn’t take upon myself to do such a thing, ma’am. If my master should come back, and be offended at us making such a fuss----’ ‘But you have a right to make a fuss. His bed was not slept in last night, you say. He disappears suddenly on a Sunday night, after receiving a mysterious visitor. You have a right to be frightened.’ ‘Why frightened? Who has disappeared?’ asked a voice at the door, and Beatrix entered, pallid and heavy eyed after her late slumbers. ‘Oh, Beatrix,’ cried Bella, going over to her, ‘I did not think you were coming downstairs.’ ‘What is wrong?’ asked Beatrix. ‘Is it anything about my father?’ There was a pause, and then she turned sharply upon the butler. ‘There is something wrong,’ she said, ‘and you are trying to hide it from me. Is my father ill?’ Peacock faltered, stammered, and finally explained the state of things. ‘When did you last see papa?’ asked Beatrix, after he had finished. ‘It was half-past ten o’clock, ma’am. I brought wood and coals, and asked if there was anything more wanted, and my master said no.’ ‘Was he looking ill--or agitated?’ ‘I did not notice anything particular. He was sitting quietly before the fire.’ ‘Reading?’ ‘No. He was not reading.’ Beatrix sank into her father’s chair, very pale, and trembling in every limb. She could think of nothing--she could suggest nothing. For the moment the very power of thought seemed suspended, but this state of mental collapse did not last long. Bella leant over her and murmured something indistinctly soothing. Beatrix rose and went quickly to the door. ‘Let us look in every room in the house,’ she said. ‘In my mother’s rooms first of all. He may be there.’ ‘Oh, Miss Beatrix!’ cried Peacock, ‘why, you know those rooms are never opened.’ ‘Yes, sometimes by him. He keeps the key. The visitor last night was an old friend of my mother’s. The sight of him might bring back thoughts of the past to my father.’ She ran quickly up stairs, and to the passage out of which her mother’s rooms opened. It was at the end of the house opposite that in which Beatrix lived. ‘See,’ she cried, ‘the key is in the door of the morning-room. My father is there.’