Leonard sat with his head bent over the table, writing, Christabel in her chair by the fire turning the leaves of her book in the rapture of a first skimming. They sat thus for about an hour, and then both looked up with a startled air, at the sound of wheels. It was the dog-cart that was being driven into the yard, Mr. Hamleigh's servant sitting behind, walled in by a portmanteau and a Gladstone bag. Leonard opened the window, and looked out. "What's up?" he asked "Has your master changed his mind?" The valet alighted, and came across the yard to the window. "We haven't seen Mr. Hamleigh, Sir. There must have been some mistake, I think. We waited at the gate for nearly an hour, and then Baker said we'd better come back, as we must have missed Mr. Hamleigh, somehow, and he might be here waiting for us to take him to Launceston." "Baker's a fool. How could you miss him if he went to the Kieve? There's only one way out of that place--or only one way that Mr. Hamleigh could find. Did you inquire if he went to the Kieve?" "Yes, Sir. Baker went into the farmhouse, and they told him that a gentleman had come with his gun and a dog, and had asked for the key, and had gone to the Kieve alone. They were not certain as to whether he'd come back or not, but he hadn't taken the key back to the house. He might have put it into his pocket, and forgotten all about it, don't you see, Sir, after he'd let himself out of the gate. That's what Baker said; and he might have come back here." "Perhaps he has come back," answered Leonard, carelessly. "You'd better inquire." "I don't think he can have returned," said Christabel, standing near the window, very pale. "How do you know?" asked Leonard, savagely. "You've been sitting here for the last hour poring over that book." "I think I should have heard--I think I should have known," faltered Christabel, with her heart beating strangely. There was a mystery in the return of the carriage which seemed like the beginning of woe and horror--like the ripening of that strange vague sense of trouble which had oppressed her for the last few hours. "You would have heard--you would have known," echoed her husband, with brutal mockery--"by instinct, by second sight, by animal magnetism, I suppose. You are just the sort of woman to believe in that kind of rot." The valet had gone across the yard on his way round to the offices of the house. Christabel made no reply to her husband's sneering speech, but went straight to the hall, and rang for the butler. "Have you--has any one seen Mr. Hamleigh come back to the house?" she asked. "No, ma'am." "Inquire, if you please, of every one. Make quite sure that he has not returned, and then let three or four men, with Nicholls at their head, go down to St. Nectan's Kieve and look for him. I'm afraid there has been an accident."