The servants lighted the lamps in the many chambers of Raynham, while Sir Oswald paced to and fro--now in the long drawing-room; now in the library; now on the terrace, where the September moon shone broad and full. It was eleven o'clock when the sound of approaching wheels proclaimed the return of the picnic party; and until that hour the baronet had watched and waited without having been rewarded by the smallest discovery of any kind whatever. He felt bitterly ashamed of himself for having been duped by so shallow a trick. "It is the handiwork of some kind friend; the practical joke of some flippant youngster, who thinks it a delightful piece of humour to play upon the jealousy of a husband of fifty," mused the baronet, as he brooded over his folly. "I wish to heaven I could discover the writer of the epistle. He should find that it is rather a dangerous thing to trifle with a man's feelings." Sir Oswald went himself to assist at the reception of his guests. He expected to see his wife arrive with the rest. For the moment, he forgot all about his suspicions of the last fortnight. He thought only of the anonymous letter, and the wrong which he had done Honoria in being influenced by its dark hints. If he could have met his wife at that moment, when every impulse of his heart drew him towards her, all sense of estrangement would have melted away; all his doubts would have vanished before a smile from her. But though Sir Oswald found his wife's barouche the first of the carriages, she was not in it. Lydia Graham told him how "dear Lady Eversleigh" had caused all the party such terrible alarm. "I suppose she reached home two hours ago," added the young lady. "She had more than an hour's start of us; and with that light vehicle and spirited horse she and Mr. Carrington must have come so rapidly." "My wife and Mr. Carrington! What do you mean, Miss Graham?" Lydia explained, and Reginald Eversleigh confirmed her statement. Lady Eversleigh had left the Wizard's Cave more than an hour before the rest of the party, accompanied by Mr. Carrington. No words can describe the consternation of Sir Oswald. He did his best to conceal his alarm; but the livid hue of his face, the ashen pallor of his lips, betrayed the intensity of his emotion. He sent out mounted grooms to search the different roads between the castle and the scene of the pic-nic; and then he left his guests without a word, and shut himself in his own apartments, to await the issue of the search. Had any fatal accident happened to her and her companion?--or were Honoria Eversleigh and Victor Carrington two guilty creatures, who had abandoned themselves to the folly and madness of a wicked attachment, and had fled together, reckless alike of reputation and fortune? He tried to believe that this latter chance was beyond the region of possibility; but horrible suspicions racked his brain as he paced to and fro, waiting for the issue of the search that was being made.