"If she really does fear it. I tell you, Johnny, the performance is growing complicated; somewhat puzzling. But I'll see it played out if I live." The week went on to Friday. But the afternoon was over, and evening set in, before the shock fell upon us: _Hugh was missing_. The Squire had been out in the gig, taking me; and it seems they had supposed at home that Hugh was with us. The particulars of Hugh's disappearance, and what had happened in the day, I will relate further on. The Squire thought nothing: he said Hugh must have got into Coney's house or some other neighbour's house: and sat down to dinner, wondering why so much to-do was made. Mrs. Todhetley looked scared to death; and Tod tore about as if he were wild. The servants were sent here, the outdoor men there: it was like a second edition of that day in Warwickshire when we lost Lena: like it, only worse, more commotion. Hannah boldly said to her mistress that the strange man must have carried off the boy. Hour after hour the search continued. With no result. Night came on, with a bright moon to light it up. But it did not light up Hugh. Mrs. Todhetley, a dark shawl over her head, and I dare say a darker fear upon her heart, went out for the second or third time towards the Ravine. I ran after her. We had nearly reached the stile at the zigzag, when Tod came bounding over it. "Has not the time for shielding this man gone by, think you?" he asked, placing himself in Mrs. Todhetley's path, and speaking as coolly as he was able for the agitation that shook him. And why Tod, with his known carelessness, should be so moved, I could not fathom. "Joseph, I do not suppose or think the man knows anything of Hugh; I have my reasons for it," she answered, bearing on for the stile, and leaning over it to look down into the dark Ravine. "Will you give me permission to inquire that of himself?" "You will not find the man. He is gone." "Leave the finding him to me," persisted Tod. "Will you withdraw the embargo you laid upon me?" "No, no," she whispered, "I cannot do it." The trees had an uncommonly damp feel in the night-air, and the place altogether looked as weird as could be. I was away then in the underwood; she looked down always into the Ravine and called Hugh's name aloud. Nothing but an echo answered. "It has appeared to me for several days that you have feared something of this," Tod said, trying to get a full view of her face. "It might have been better for--for all of us--if you had allowed me at first to take the affair in hand." "Perhaps I ought; perhaps I ought," she said, bursting into tears. "Heaven knows, though, that I acted from a good motive. It was not to screen myself that I've tried to keep the matter secret." "Oh!" The sarcasm of Tod's short comment was like nothing I ever heard. "To screen me, perhaps?" said he.