I heard Richard descend the stairs and go out into the street. Not long; after this the door-bell rang violently and the servant knocked at my door to say that a gentleman in the drawing-room wished to see me. Smoothing my hair and arranging my toilet, I obeyed the summons, but started back on discovering the stranger to be no other than Mr. Bristed. He pressed my hands and said: “Agnes, can I converse with you in private here a few moments?” My first surprise over, I answered, “Come with me; we will not be disturbed here.” Withdrawing to a small room adjoining, he drew forward an ottoman and seating himself beside me, said: “Agnes, Herbert is missing; can you tell me where I can find him?” “Herbert missing!” said I with a shudder. “Yes,” said he, “I have heard, Agnes, that a gentleman visits you whom I surmise to be my brother, and, if so, I thought perhaps you would know through him of Herbert’s place of hiding.” “Has Herbert left you?” said I. “Tell me--what do you mean, Mr. Bristed?” “Yes,” said he; “some few weeks since, I left the Hall to visit an old friend. I expected to be absent a fortnight. While I was gone Herbert disappeared, the servants knew not how nor where. At first, hoping to discover that he had strayed off of his own accord and would soon be found, they searched the country in every direction, but in vain. They were at last obliged to send me word of his disappearance. You can imagine my sensations on arriving at the Hall and finding the dear child’s room vacant. I made inquiries in every quarter, sent couriers out in all parts of the neighboring country, but no trace of him could be found. “I at length thought of you, that you might have seen or heard of my brother. He is the one person likely to be concerned in the singular disappearance of Herbert.” I trembled from head to foot. What could I say? Evidently he was not aware of my marriage with his brother. How should I act? Richard might come in at any moment and discover himself. I recollected him to have incidentally mentioned that the following day he had an engagement at the race-course with a friend; I therefore said hurriedly: “Mr. Bristed, I have seen Richard recently, but tonight can tell you nothing further. If you will call to-morrow morning at eleven, I will tell you all I know.” He seized my hand, exclaiming, “Tell me to-night, Agnes, and set my mind at ease.” My head seemed on fire--I groaned audibly. “I can tell you nothing of a certainty. It is all surmise, and my brain is distracted to-night. Give me till to-morrow.” “I will, Agnes; I feel that I can confide in you.” “Now go,” I replied. “My position is such that your presence here will only destroy the purpose of your visit.” He clasped my hand in his and left me. The next morning before leaving for the racecourse, while adjusting his neck-tie, Richard said: