All this, put together, certainly did not tend to show that Mr. Marcus Allen had anything to do with the disappearance. Jessy had now and then received letters from her former schoolfellows addressed to the post-office--for her sisters, who considered her but a child, had an inconvenient habit of looking over her shoulder while she read them. The whole family, John Drench included, were up to their ears in agony: they did not know in what direction to look for her; were just in that state of mind when straws are caught at. Tod, knowing it could do no harm, told Miss Abigail about the kiss in the coppice. Miss Abigail quite laughed at it: kisses under the mistletoe were as common as blackberries with us, and just as innocent. She wrote to Aberystwith, asking questions about Marcus Allen, especially as to where he might be found. In answer, Mrs. Allen said she had not heard from him since he left Aberystwith, early in December, but had no doubt he was in London at his own home: she did not know exactly where that was, except that it was "somewhere at the West End." This letter was not more satisfactory than anything else. Everything seemed vague and doubtful. Miss Page read it to her father when he was in bed: Susan had just brought up his breakfast, and he sat up with the tray before him, his face nearly as white as the pillow behind him. They could not help seeing how ill and how shrunken he looked: Jessy's loss had told upon him. "I think, father, I had better go to London, and see if anything's to be learnt there," said Miss Page. "We cannot live on, in this suspense." "Ay; best go," answered he, "_I_ can't live in it, either. I've had another sleepless night: and I wish that I was strong to travel. I should have been away long ago searching for the child----." "You see, father, we don't know where to seek her; we've no clue," interrupted Abigail. "I'd have gone from place to place till I found her. But now, I'll tell ye, Abigail, where you must go first--the thought has been in my mind all night. And that is to Madame Caron's." "To Madame Caron's!" echoed both the sisters at once. "Madame Caron's!" "Don't either of you remember how your mother used to talk of her? She was Ann Dicker. She knows a sight of great folks now--and it may be that Jessy's gone to her. Bond Street, or somewhere near to it, is where she lives." In truth they had almost forgotten the person mentioned. Madame Caron had once been plain Ann Dicker, of Church Dykely, intimate with William Page and his wife. She went to London when a young woman to learn the millinery and dress-making; married a Frenchman, and rose by degrees to be a fashionable court-milliner. It struck Mr. Page, during the past night-watch, that Jessy might have applied to Madame Caron to help her in getting a place as lady's-maid.