Clara was now sought for. The lord of the house desired her presence impatiently, and had to wait. She was in none of the lower rooms. Barclay, her maid, upon interrogation, declared she was in none of the upper. Willoughby turned sharp on De Craye: he was there. The ladies Eleanor and Isabel and Miss Dale were consulted. They had nothing to say about Clara's movements, more than that they could not understand her exceeding restlessness. The idea of her being out of doors grew serious; heaven was black, hard thunder rolled, and lightning flushed the battering rain. Men bearing umbrellas, shawls, and cloaks were dispatched on a circuit of the park. De Craye said: "I'll be one." "No," cried Willoughby, starting to interrupt him, "I can't allow it." "I've the scent of a hound, Willoughby; I'll soon be on the track." "My dear Horace, I won't let you go." "Adieu, dear boy! and if the lady's discoverable, I'm the one to find her." He stepped to the umbrella-stand. There was then a general question whether Clara had taken her umbrella. Barclay said she had. The fact indicated a wider stroll than round inside the park: Crossjay was likewise absent. De Craye nodded to himself. Willoughby struck a rattling blow on the barometer. "Where's Pollington?" he called, and sent word for his man Pollington to bring big fishing-boots and waterproof wrappers. An urgent debate within him was in progress. Should he go forth alone on his chance of discovering Clara and forgiving her under his umbrella and cloak? or should he prevent De Craye from going forth alone on the chance he vaunted so impudently? "You will offend me, Horace, if you insist," he said. "Regard me as an instrument of destiny, Willoughby," replied De Craye. "Then we go in company." "But that's an addition of one that cancels the other by conjunction, and's worse than simple division: for I can't trust my wits unless I rely on them alone, you see." "Upon my word, you talk at times most unintelligible stuff, to be frank with you, Horace. Give it in English." "'Tis not suited, perhaps, to the genius of the language, for I thought I talked English." "Oh, there's English gibberish as well as Irish, we know!" "And a deal foolisher when they do go at it; for it won't bear squeezing, we think, like Irish." "Where!" exclaimed the ladies, "where can she be! The storm is terrible." Laetitia suggested the boathouse. "For Crossjay hadn't a swim this morning!" said De Craye. No one reflected on the absurdity that Clara should think of taking Crossjay for a swim in the lake, and immediately after his breakfast: it was accepted as a suggestion at least that she and Crossjay had gone to the lake for a row.