Presently Miss Delves's bell rang. The servants said they always knew her ring—it came with a jerk. Jemima went to answer it. It was for some hot water, which she took up. Somebody was going to have brandy-and-water, she said; perhaps Mr. Martin—she did not know. Her master was in the hall then, and Mr. Barley, of the Oaks, was with him. "Who's Mr. Barley of the Oaks, Jemima?" I asked. "He is master's elder brother, Miss. He lives at the Oaks, about three miles from here. Such a nice place it is—ten times better than this. When the old gentleman died, Mr. Barley came into the Oaks, and Mr. Edwin into this." Then there was silence again for another half-hour. I sat with my eyes closed, and heard them say I was asleep. The young farm labourer, Duff, came in at last. "Well," said he, "it have been a useless chase. I wonder whether I am wanted for anything else." "Where have you been?" asked Jemima. "Scouring the wood, seven of us, in search of Mr. Heneage: and them two mounted police is a-dashing about the roads. We haven't found him." "Duff, Mr. Heneage no more did it than you did." "That's all you know about it," was Duff's answer. "Master says he did." "Have a cup of coffee, Duff?" asked the cook. "Thank ye," said Duff. "I'd be glad on't." She was placing the cup before him, when he suddenly leaned forward from the chair he had taken, speaking in a covert whisper. "I say, who do you think was in the wood, a-scouring it, up one path and down another, as much as ever we was?" "Who?" asked the servants in a breath. "The young missis. She hadn't got an earthly thing on her but just what she sits in, indoors. Her hair was down, and her neck and arms was bare; and there she was, a-racing up and down like one demented." "Tush!" said the cook. "You must have seen double. What should bring young madam dancing about the wood, Duff, at this time o' night?" "I tell ye I see her. I see her three times over. Maybe she was looking for Mr. Heneage, too. At any rate, there she was, and with nothing on, as if she'd started out in a hurry, and had forget to dress herself. And if she don't catch a cold, it's odd to me," added Duff. "The fog's as thick as pea-soup, and wets you worse than rain. 'Twas enough to give her her death." Duff's report was true. As he spoke, a bell called Jemima up again. She came back, laid hold of me without speaking, and took me to the drawing-room. Mrs. Edwin Barley stood there, just come in: she was shaking like a leaf, with the damp and cold, her hair dripping wet. When she had seen her husband leave the hall in search of George Heneage, an impulse came over her to follow and interpose between the anger of the two, should they meet. At least, partly this, partly to look after George Heneage herself, and warn him to escape. She gave me this explanation openly.