A little more conversation ensued. One word leading to another, Ella confided to him what the servant Eliza had told her--that she had penetrated beyond the green baize doors, on one lucky occasion when they were left unguarded, and had found the Squire's rooms empty: Mr. Denison was nowhere to be seen in them. Nay, more; the rooms and the bed appeared to be unoccupied. Mr. Plackett, though evidently much surprised, could still make nothing of it. He sat fingering his grey hair--a habit of his when in thought. Ella finished by inquiring what more she could do. "I really fail to see at present that there is anything more you can do," he answered. "And I am quite sure that not one person in a thousand would do as much as you have already done." "Are you sure it was my uncle you saw," she inquired, speaking on the moment's impulse, "when you were here two days after his birthday?" Mr. Charles Plackett paused, revolving the question. "I thought I was sure," he said. "Although I had only seen Mr. Denison twice before, and that some years previously, he certainly seemed to me to be the same individual, naturally much wasted and changed by illness. One thing I perfectly remembered: the beautiful cat's-eye ring he wore. Yes, I think it could have been no other than Mr. Denison--and no other temper than his. You heard, probably, of the passion he went into?" "And threw away his beef-tea, and broke the cup. Truly I cannot imagine anyone doing that, save my uncle." "I must say that I have not been so thoroughly puzzled by any case for a long while," remarked the lawyer, as he rose to depart. And puzzled Mr. Plackett was destined to remain; at least for some time yet to come. If Miss Winter had looked to benefit by his advice, she was disappointed. He had no advice of any consequence to offer. He could only thank her again for her frankness, and say that he would consult with his client, Mr. Denison, and, with her permission, write to her in the course of a few days. Then, declining refreshments, he left the Hall, much more disquieted in his mind than when he had arrived at it. But within an hour of the lawyer's departure, Miss Winter had something else to think about than his promise to write to her. There came a telegram from Edward Conroy. He had reached London, and hoped to be at Heron Dyke on the morrow. CHAPTER V. A FRUITLESS ERRAND. Matters with Philip Cleeve were not progressing quite to his satisfaction. Upon going down to breakfast one morning, he was surprised to find his mother down before him. A notable thing; for Lady Cleeve was seldom able to rise early. Philip kissed her fondly. "This is a rare treat, mother," he said. "It seems like old times come back again." She pressed his hand and smiled tenderly in his bright, handsome face. "I want to have a little talk with you before you go out, Philip. I sat up for you last night, but you came home late."