Yet we still went on at full speed to Cambridge. When we came to our destination I alighted breathlessly, half expecting to encounter him at once, and without the faintest notion of what I was to say, or how to account for my errand. But he was not there--he had left this house, and, indeed, had left the town, early in the previous evening. I turned away from the door, sick to the heart. I asked no more questions. I would not betray my ignorance of his movements to strangers. He had left Cambridge to go home, but he had not come--had he left me?--had something happened to him?--what could I do? And there stood Joseph at the carriage door asking where we were to go next. How could I tell? When I recollected myself, I bade him go to our old house, my father's house, and to drive slowly. I do not know why I wished to go slowly--perhaps with some unreasonable idea of meeting Edgar on the way. When I reached the house this time, I alighted and went in; for the first time since my father's death. That strange old, dreary, silent house where dwelt the past--what had I to do there? I went wandering about the rooms, up and down, in a kind of stupor, looking at everything with dull curiosity,--noticing the decay of the furniture, and some spots of damp on the walls, as if I had nothing more important on my mind. I cannot account for the strange pause I made in my agony of anxiety, fear, and bewilderment. I did not know what to do--I could not even think--there seemed a physical necessity for standing still somewhere, and recovering the power of myself. I was in the library, looking round, seeing everything, yet only half aware where I was--when I started almost with superstitious terror to hear in the passage behind a well-known alert footstep, and the rustle of Mr. Osborne's gown. He had seen the carriage at the door as he passed--for he lived so near that he could not go anywhere without passing this way--and came to me in haste when he heard I was here. He came up anxiously, took my hand, and asked me what was the matter? I looked ill, I suppose. And my heart yearned to have somebody to trust to--the sound of his voice restored me to myself. "I am in great trouble," I said; "have you seen Edgar, Mr. Osborne?--is he here?" "Here! it would indeed have been a strange place to find him." "I do not mean in this house," said I, with a little impatience; "is he in Cambridge? have you seen him?--I want to know where he is." "It is a strange question, Hester, yet I am glad to hear you ask it," said Mr. Osborne; "I presume, now, you are both coming to your right mind." "No--soon I shall not care for anything, right or wrong," said I. "Edgar--he is a man--he should have known better--he has gone away."