It had been noticed by such of the children as were old enough to be in any wise observant, that Lucy Ellet, so far from busying herself as usual to devise rambles among the hills, and promote diversity of amusement, would have used her persuasions to detain the young people the whole day in the grove. Her amiable disposition, however, prevented her from employing positive authority in restraining their footsteps, and she had been obliged, however regretfully, to behold them wander abroad at their pleasure. When the members of the scattered assemblage were re-collecting around her, late in the afternoon, previous to their return home, she anxiously scanned their several countenances as they appeared, as if to detect whether any individual had made an unusual or curious discovery. She seemed satisfied, at length, that this was not the case, and evinced extreme satisfaction when, a little before sunset, the party set out on their return to L. They had not proceeded far, however, ere it was discovered that the young May-queen was missing from the party. In small alarm, they retraced their steps, expecting to find her fallen asleep under the trees where they had dined. But on arriving at the spot, she was nowhere to be seen. Her name was next loudly called, yet there was no reply. Apprehension now seized every member of the young party, who dispersed in various directions in search of the lost child. Frank Stanley, the youth who, it will be remembered, had once been her preserver from a watery grave, evinced especial uneasiness at her singular absence, and was, perhaps—her sister excepted, whose anxiety amounted almost to frenzy—the most active in his endeavors to discover her. Separating himself entirely from the rest, he climbed among the rocky hills, and searched in every nook and cavity, at the same time shouting her name until his voice was drowned in the resounding echoes.