“I don’t know that I _did_ notice her face very particularly,” Mrs. Greatorex said. “She seemed quite an ordinary sort of young woman, I thought.” They had been retracing their way across the field as they talked, and now having reached the sunk fence, filed up the little flight of stone steps to the garden. Before them, across the width of the lawn the lighted windows of the drawing-room shone artificially yellow against the whiteness of the moonlight. They had returned to the influences of their own world; even the garden planned and formalised was a man-made thing. But as they crossed the short, well-kept turf, some common impulse made them pause, and with a movement that seemed to be concerted, turn back to look down over the meadow to the plantation and the solemn stretches of the lake--back to that other world, vague, mysterious and enormously still, into which they had so carelessly penetrated. No one spoke until Harrison, with an impatient sigh, remarked suddenly: “Oh, come along! let’s get back to sanity.” “Hm! Yes,” Greatorex agreed. “About time we went to bed,” Harrison went on. “We’ll be wiser in the morning.” “I suppose,” Fell began as they resumed their walk to the house, but Harrison cut short his speculations. “Here’s Emma coming to reprove us,” he interrupted. “She’ll probably insist on our all taking something hot to ward off the evil effects of miasma.” Mrs. Harrison was, in fact, coming quickly to meet them with a brisk air of urgency, and as though she would shorten the little distance that still divided them, she called to her husband while she was still some few yards away, on a note that held the suggestion of a faint asperity. “Charles. I want to speak to you,” she said. “Are we in the way?” Fell asked as they hurried to meet her. Mrs. Harrison looked at him for a moment as if she had been unexpectedly reminded of the fact of his existence, and then, taking no notice of his question, continued: “That man Messenger, from the hotel, is here, Charles, with the police sergeant. They want to see you at once.” Harrison’s quick mind leapt at once to a possible explanation. “Ha! Now we shall hear something about the lady of the lake, no doubt,” he said. “It’s about Messenger’s daughter,” Mrs. Harrison replied. “She’s--she has disappeared. They are looking for her; and Messenger wants to know if they can go down to the plantation. He has apparently got some idea that she may be there.” “Oh!” commented Harrison on a falling note, and exchanged a glance of understanding with his wife. Then they both turned and looked at Fell. He had almost forgotten the resolutions he had made an hour earlier, and was quite unprepared to meet the silent accusation that was now levelled at him. “I--_I_ don’t know anything about it,” he stammered. “Oh, well,” Harrison said. “Let’s go and hear what Messenger and the Sergeant have to tell us. I suppose this means that we shall have to make another pilgrimage to the lake.”