He felt now that another crisis had arisen, yet the past yielded no ray of guidance. He glared at the poor laborer who, all unconsciously, was fate's herald in this new adversity, for he was instantly aware, without other spoken word, that Marguerite Ogilvey had fled. The man's troubled face showed that he feared he had done wrong. "I'm main sorry, sir," said he, "if I've said owt te vex ye, but, hearin' the talk of Miss Meg, I thought----" Armathwaite's drawn features relaxed, and he placed a friendly hand on the villager's shoulder. "You've done right," he said. "I am very much obliged to you. I have a stupid habit of allowing my mind to wander. Just then I was thinking of something wholly unconnected with Miss Garth's disappearance, which will arouse Mrs. Jackson's wrath because of bacon and eggs frizzled to a cinder. I must go and condole with her." He was turning to re-enter the house, mainly to set at rest any suspicion that Marguerite's absence arose from other cause than sheer forgetfulness, when the clang of the gate stayed him. A youth had dismounted from a bicycle, and was hastening up the path with an air of brisk importance. "Telegrams for Garth and Whittaker," he said. "Any answer, sir?" Armathwaite took the two buff envelopes which the lad produced from a leather pouch. "Have you come from Bellerby?" he inquired. "Yes, sir." "Well, wait a few minutes. There may be some reply." He went into the dining-room. So sure was he that Marguerite had gone away that he had not the slightest hesitation about opening the telegram addressed to "Garth, The Grange, Elmdale." As he anticipated, it was from Mrs. Ogilvey. It had been dispatched at seven o'clock from Tavistock, and read: "Arriving to-night if possible. Don't take any action until I am with you.--MOTHER." The early hour at which it had been sent off--from a town, too, which he rightly estimated as a good many miles distant from Warleggan, showed that Mrs. Suarez had contrived to get a telegram through to Cornwall the previous night, so Percy Whittaker's mischievous interference had proved quite successful. Then, with lightning clarity came the belief that Percy Whittaker was responsible for Marguerite's flight. Armathwaite scouted the notion that she had such a thing in her mind when she came to him in the garden. Her nature was incapable of guile. Had she formed some fantastic scheme during the watches of the night she would never have put her troubles aside to share in his light-hearted planning of a new and glorified garden. In fact, he recalled her sudden dismay because of her seeming neglect of the invalid, and now he knew that he had not seen her since she went upstairs, whereas Whittaker himself had sent more than one urgent summons for her subsequently. Stifling his fury as best he might, Armathwaite hurried to Whittaker's room.