London-bred Annot was scared at last by the elemental war, by these strange sounds, and the pale faces of those about her, and with blanched visage she peered from the deeply embayed windows into the darkness without, with genuine alarm, now. How often had she and Roland rambled in yonder green park, not a vestige of which could now be seen even between the flying glimpses of the moon, or crossed it together, talking of and planning out that future which he seemed to approach with such doubt and diffidence latterly; or as he went forth with his breechloader on his shoulder and she clinging with interlaced hands on his right arm--he tall, strong, and stalwart, with his dogs at his heels, and looking down lovingly and trustfully into her fair, smiling face. Now they might never there and thus walk again, yet her tears seemed to be lodged very deep just then. But softer Hester's thoughts were more acute. Had Roland perished in some unforeseen, mysterious, and terrible manner? Was this the last of _her_ secret love-dream, and had all hope, sweetness, glamour and beauty gone out of her heart--out of her life altogether? Oh, what had happened? Could Hawkey Sharpe--no, she thrust even fear of him on one side; but, as the time stole on and the midnight hour passed without tidings, she tortured herself with questions, lay down without undressing, and wetted her pillow with tears for the doubly lost companion of her infancy, of her girlhood, and its riper years--thinking all the while that her sorrow, her longing, and passionate terrors were for the affianced of another--of the artful Annot Drummond. Clinging to the supposition that he must have mistaken his way in the swiftly descending mist, Jack Elliot and other guests, with serving-men, keepers, and hunters, carrying lanterns and poles, set out more than once into the darkness, rack, and storm to search without avail, and to return wet and weary. Hour after hour the circle at Earlshaugh watched and waited, trembling at every gust and listening to every sound--shaken and weakened by a suspense that grew intolerable. From the windows nothing could be seen--not even the tossing trees close by, or the dark outline of the distant mountains. The listeners' hearts beat quick--gust after gust swept past, but brought no welcome sound with it, and they became familiarized with the idea that some catastrophe must have happened or tidings of the absent must have come by that time; and with each returning party of searchers, hope grew less and less, while those most vitally concerned in the absence of Roland began to shrink from questioning or consulting them, as they were already too much disposed by their nature to adopt the gloomiest and most morbid views; and still the storm gusts continued to shake the windows, and dash against them showers of leaves and the wet masses of overhanging foliage.