Where was Betty? Was her disappearance in any way connected with the queer story which she had told Gerry last night? Could it be that-- Her thoughts were broken into by fragments of conversation overheard from the lips of passing couples. “On the day of her investiture, too!” “She looked awfully bothered yesterday evening. And did not say one word while she was undressing----” “Do you think it’s anything about the Cup?” Suddenly, in the midst of the chattering, came the summons from the bell. Lines were made, as usual, without more speaking; in single file the girls made their way into the Hall--all but one; the Mascot’s place was empty, and Gerry felt Miss Carey’s glance rest for a moment longer upon the vacant space as her eye travelled down the Hall. But prayers were said, the roll was called; then, before the order came to leave the room, the headmistress stood up and looked down steadily at the lines before her. “It appears that Betty Carlyle is missing. Will any girl who can give any reason--possible or probable: any reason at _all_!--for her absence, stand out from the lines while the rest file out.” Gerry, three minutes afterwards, found herself standing alone in the big Oak Room while the headmistress descended from the little platform and came to her side. “Well, Geraldine?” “Miss Carey, I think--I’m almost sure, that Betty has gone to Witch’s Wood!” * * * * * * “But--!” said Betty. “He’s ill, poor lad, and askin’ for you. Won’t lay quiet. My man fetched doctor to un last night, and he told us--doctor did--to give un anything wot he fancied, ’im bein’ in such a bad way. So I come along ’cos I knew you’d come, little Miss Carlyle--you with the soft heart as kissed the baby. And sure, too, it’s the Cup he’s talkin’ about, end on. An’ it bein’ Midsummer Day--” The speaker stopped for breath and mopped a heated brow. “But who _is_ ‘he’?” inquired Betty, staring. She had got used to the first surprise--that of suddenly seeing behind her in the school wood the figure of Anna Grimes of the caravan, dishevelled and dusty, certainly, but with the delight of recognition in her eyes. How she had got there Betty hadn’t had time to consider as yet, owing to the torrent of talk which flowed from her visitor’s lips.