"It is wrong of him," I began to think, "to stay out like this, when he knows I am all alone, especially after what I said." Then as my half-forgotten fears suddenly revived--"He can't have--oh! no, surely he would not think of anything of the kind; I am too fanciful," and I took up a book and tried to interest myself in it. But such tryings are generally of the nature of make-believe. Sometimes, indeed, any effort of the kind, like a half dose of chloroform, only seems to intensify the consciousness one would fain put aside. I grew more and more uneasy, and when once again the timepiece struck--this time the quarter to--I threw my book aside, and gave up pretending that I had no cause for misgiving. It was not raining now, and the sky, though darkening for the evening, seemed clearer. I soon made up my mind what to do, and hurried to my own room to fetch my wraps. On the way out I met one of the men-servants. "I am afraid we may be a little late for dinner," I said. "My brother has stayed out so long. I am going to meet him. I know the way he has gone." The young man, who was extremely obliging, as were all the servants of that well-managed household, offered to go off himself in search of the truant, but I shook my head. "No, thank you," I replied; "I shall find him easily. He was not going far." Yes, indeed, in my heart I did know "the way he had gone." "O Moore," I said to myself, "you are _very_ naughty. It is really too bad. How I do wish I had been guided by Jocelyn's advice!" and feeling decidedly angry as well as frightened--the one sensation seeming to increase instead of lessening the other--I hurried on. My destination, I need scarcely say, was the door in the wall, and all the way thither I kept straining my eyes in the vain hope of seeing the boy's figure emerging from the gathering gloom and coming to meet me. But no--I knew my point very accurately by now, and soon relaxed my pace, knowing that the door must be near at hand. And all the way from the Manor-house I had not met one living soul. "It is a very lonely place," I thought, with a little shiver of nervousness. "None of the roads near home are as deserted. I don't think I should like to live all the year round in the North." Then a new fear struck me. What if the door should be locked--should have been locked after Moore had entered the grounds? for that he had done so I had no manner of doubt. What if that were the explanation of his non-appearance? What _could_ I do? But I did not allow myself to dwell on this cruel possibility, and in another moment it was set aside. I found the door, and it was unclosed! Half my distress seemed to vanish with this discovery, though I grew more and more angry with my brother. Once inside, I stood still to consider, but not for long.