"It must have been some stranger, some wicked man that we don't know--or a woman," answered Susan, slowly. "Miss Winter had gone down then, and was out of hearing." "But there was no stranger at Heron Dyke that night, either man or woman," objected Mrs. Carlyon. "Only the women-servants, old Aaron, the Squire, and Miss Winter." "Somebody might have been hid in the house. She'd not go out of the room, ma'am, of her own accord." "Not unless she had something to go for," said Mrs. Carlyon; "though I do not see what it was likely to be," she slowly added. "Or, if she did go out, why did she not go back again?" "Ma'am," spoke the landlady, "against that theory there's the fact that she left the candle behind her. Miss Winter found it burnt down to the socket. If she had gone out of the room she would have taken the light with her." "It is a great mystery," mused Mrs. Carlyon. "What could have become of her? Where can she be?" "She was hurt in some way, or else frightened," said Susan. "Screams of terror, those two were, that I heard." "With regard to those screams," returned Mrs. Carlyon, "the singular thing is that no one else heard them; no one in the house." "Tom Barnet heard them, ma'am, the coachman's boy," interposed the mother, smoothing down the sleeve of her lilac cotton gown. "I can't think there's any doubt but that the screams came from Katherine. I'd give--I'd give all I'm worth to know where she is, dead or alive." "She is inside Heron Dyke!" cried Susan, her voice taking a sound of awe. "Nonsense," somewhat impatiently rebuked Mrs. Carlyon. "You ought to know that it cannot be, Susan." Susan lifted her patient face, a pleading kind of look on it. "Ma'am, she's there; she's there. I've seen her at the window of her room in the moonlight; it's three times now." "Run in, Susie; I thought I heard the gentleman's bell," spoke her mother, and Susan gathered up her work and went. But Mrs. Carlyon saw it was only a ruse to get rid of her. "She is growing almost silly upon the point, ma'am," Mrs. Keen began; "thinking she sees her sister at the window. I believe it's all fancy, for my part; nothing but the reflection of some tree branches cast on the window-blind by the moon." "Why don't you forbid her going up to Heron Dyke in the dark?" sensibly asked Mrs. Carlyon. "It cannot be good for her." "Because, ma'am, I'm feared that if I did, her mind would quite lose its balance," replied the mother. "I do stop her all I can; but I dare not do it quite always. The going up there to watch the windows for Katherine has become like meat and drink to her." Mrs. Carlyon sighed. Throughout the interview the landlady had never ceased to wipe her tears away; they rose in spite of her. It was altogether a very distressing case, and Mrs. Carlyon wished it had occurred anywhere rather than at Heron Dyke. "I suppose Katherine had no trouble? She was not in bad spirits?" she remarked.