At one moment Kitty was sanguine, at the next her spirits fell. It was to be hoped’nay, believed’that he had not perished in the fire; but was it not possible’nay, probable’that he had died by some other means, that he may have fallen into the mud, and been smothered therein? That mud would swallow up the man that sank in it and never restore him again. If he had come by his end thus, had he fallen in, or had he been cast in? Again, with a chill, as if pierced by an icicle, came the thought of her uncle. Undoubtedly, he could explain all if he chose. He had returned to the Cellars and found her father there. The altercation which Walter had imperfectly heard must have taken place between her father and her uncle. It could not have occurred at that time, in that place, between any others. Her father had passed by the road as the cart entered the linhay, her uncle had gone home immediately after. Therefore, these two had met at the Cellars. What had been the occasion of the quarrel? and what the result of that quarrel? The result was the disappearance of her father. How had he disappeared? That, she felt convinced, her uncle could answer, and he alone. But for motives which she dared not investigate, he remained silent; nay, worse, he endeavoured, by denial of his having returned to the Cellars, to cast the suspicion of having fired the storehouse from himself on other shoulders. These questions turned and twisted in Kitty’s brain without rest. They occupied her by day, they tortured her by night. She did not venture to express them to her aunt. She knew that the same thoughts, the same questions, were working in her mind; and she knew also that her aunt could not endure their discussion. Meanwhile, the work of the house must be carried on, and Mrs. Pepperill called in the assistance of Mrs. Redmore. With their preoccupied minds, neither she nor Kitty was capable of doing all that had been done as in days gone by. Pasco grumbled at the introduction of this woman into his house’the wife of the wretch who had set fire to the rick of Farmer Pooke, and who had escaped pursuit. But Mrs. Pepperill did not yield. There were no other women disengaged in Coombe, and of girls she would have none to break dishes, and throw away spoons, and melt the blades out of the handles of knives. Pasco acquiesced, with a growl, and a malicious look at Kate, and a mutter that some folk were mighty fond of incendiaries and their belongings, backing them up, helping them to escape, providing for their families; to which neither Kate nor her aunt made reply.