[1] Years afterwards I became possessed of the pamphlet in question, which, having glanced at, I very carefully committed to the flames. I do not doubt, however, that Sir Massingberd would have carried his threat into execution, had not Mr. Long's menace shaken his purpose. CHAPTER IV. LOST. The morning subsequent to Sir Massingberd's visit to the Rectory was bright, but intensely cold. I was very particular about my shaving in those days, and would not have dispensed with that manly exercise upon any account; but I remember that the frost made it a difficult process. In the course of the ceremony, Mrs. Myrtle, who was a very privileged person, knocked softly at my door. A visit from her at such a time was unusual, but not unprecedented. I said, "Pray, come in." My attire was tolerably complete, and perhaps I was not indisposed to let people know what tremendous difficulties were entailed upon a gentleman by the possession of an obstinate beard. I was not prepared for her closing the door behind her, sinking into the nearest chair, and fanning herself, as though it had been midsummer, with her outspread fingers. I looked at her with a face all soap-suds and astonishment. "My dear Mrs. Myrtle, what is the matter?" "Oh, don't ask me, Master Peter," cried she, although she had come for no other purpose than to be cross-questioned. "Oh, pray, don't, for it's more nor I can bear. Dearey me, if I ain't all of a twitter!" "Nothing the matter with your master," said I, "surely? I saw him out of the window a little while ago on the lawn, talking to one of the under-keepers of the Hall." "I dare say you did, sir," quoth Mrs. Myrtle, with one of those aggravated shudders which are generally produced by the anticipation of senna and salts. "No, master's all well, thank Heaven." "No bad news from Harley Street?" exclaimed I, laying down my razor in a tremor. "I trust Miss...--I mean that Mr. Marmaduke is as he should be." "For all that I know to the contrary, he is, sir," returned the housekeeper; "and likewise all _friends_" Mrs. Myrtle laid such an accent upon "friends" that my mind naturally rushed to the opposite. "You don't mean to say," said I, "that anything has happened to Sir Massingberd?" Mrs. Myrtle had no voice to speak, but she nodded a number of times in compensation. "Is he DEAD?" asked I, very solemnly, for it was terrible to think of sudden death in connection with that abandoned man. "Wus than dead, sir," returned the housekeeper; "many times wus than dead; Heaven forgive me for saying so. Sir Massingberd is LOST." "Lost!" repeated I; "how? where?"