Miss Winter's own sitting-room and her bedroom were in the north wing. She had chosen them there on account of the beautiful view of the sea from the windows. Katherine slept in a room near her. On the evening of the fifteenth of February they were both in the sitting-room at work; Ella was making garments for some poor children in the village and had called Katherine to assist. Katherine had a headache; it got worse; and at nine o'clock Ella told her she had better go to bed. The girl thanked her, lighted her candle and went; Ella, who went at the same time to her own room to get something she wanted, saw her enter her chamber and heard her lock herself in: and from that moment Katherine Keen was never seen, alive or dead. Before the night was over, Ella--as you will hear her tell presently--had occasion to go to Katherine's room; she found the door unlocked, and Katherine absent, the bed not having been slept in. Her apron, cap, collar, and neck-ribbon lay about, showing that she had begun to undress; but that was all. Of herself there was no trace; there never had been any since that night. That she had not left the house was a matter of absolute fact, for old Aaron had already locked and bolted all the doors, and there could be no egress from it. In short, it was a strange mystery, and puzzled everyone. Where was she? What could have become of her? The matter caused endless stir and commotion in the neighbourhood. Old Squire Denison, very much troubled at the extraordinary occurrence, instituted all kinds of inquiries, but to no purpose. Every nook and corner in the spacious house was searched again and again. Aaron Stone, cross enough with the girl oftentimes beforehand, seemed troubled with the rest; his wife declared openly, her eyes round with terror, that the girl must have been 'spirited' away. The grandson, Hubert, was in London at the time, and knew absolutely nothing whatever of the occurrence.