‘No, sir. I haven’t seen him. I thought he was here.’ Sebastian, with a growing fear that the whole thing was much blacker and more dreadful than he had suspected, bade the young woman wait a moment, while he returned to Helena. He had rapidly reviewed the circumstances, and found there was nothing for it but to go to her. Fred was gone: he did not like to let the idea, ‘absconded,’ shape itself, even in his mind; but all the same, it was there, like an ugly black spectre. To burst upon Mrs. Spenceley with such news would have been in the highest degree inhuman and improper. Helena alone remained to take this fearful burden upon her shoulders. He found Helena standing in the same place in which he had left her, and the last of the guests disappearing through the hall to the supper-room. Helena was composed and calm, but her eyes, as they met his, told him that she suspected a catastrophe. ‘I want you to come with me,’ said he, drawing her arm through his, and speaking in a low, gentle voice, and then they stood in the passage, with the servant-maid. ‘Show me the room where your master is, and do not speak,’ he said to her; she was crying bitterly, in a cowed and helpless fashion, but was less excited, less inclined to shriek out her dreadful news to every one she met. Helena’s face grew white, but she neither trembled nor spoke, as they followed the girl up the backstairs to a landing-door, which she threw open, and then they found themselves standing on the gallery which formed the landing, and from which all the bedroom doors opened out. ‘Which is your master’s room?’ asked Sebastian. The maid pointed to a door, and cried more bitterly still, while Helena’s face grew whiter and more set every minute. ‘Have you seen Mr. Fred at all this evening?’ ‘I saw him run upstairs, sir, and then I saw him go to his own room; but he’s not there now, and I’ve never seen him since.’ ‘Very well, you can go now; but remember, you are to be silent, or it will be worse for you. Do you understand?’ ‘Yes, sir. I won’t say nothing, indeed!’ said the weeping young woman, going away with her muslin apron to her eyes. He turned to Helena. He felt he must not defer it any longer. There was pity and tenderness in his eyes and in his voice, as he said, ‘Now, Helena, you are brave, and you must be as brave as you can to-night.’ ‘Tell me what it is!’ she said; ‘but don’t keep me waiting any longer.’ ‘I must keep you waiting just a few moments,’ said he. ‘I want you to sit down here, and not move, while I go to your father’s room--will you?’ ‘Yes,’ said Helena, seating herself with a prompt docility which contrasted strangely with her white face and distended eyes.