But even as I started on that errand I heard footsteps behind me, and saw Fanshawe--a mere tottering shadow of a man--coming along the road after me, calling to me feebly to wait. But I ran on, taking no notice of him, and presently came to the end of the path that led into the wood. I dropped down there, calling to the boy softly as I went. He stepped out to confront me at once, and I shall remember to my dying day the look upon his face when he saw that I was alone. He held to me for a moment in the silence of the wood; then shook me roughly, and flung me aside. "Where is she?" he demanded, staring about him like one distracted. "Gone!" I replied, clinging to him, in dreadful fear that he might break away from me when he heard the news, and make for the house. "Spirited away to London." He stood quite still, with his hand pressed against his forehead, staring at me dreadfully while I went on to explain what had happened, and how I had been tricked. Then, with a laugh that was almost a sob, he broke away from me, and sprang for the road. I caught him as he went, and struggled with him. "Where are you going?" I panted. Even before he answered the question I heard the shuffling running footsteps of Jervis Fanshawe go past us on the road above; the man was still gaspingly calling my name. The footsteps died away, and I became aware that young Millard was speaking. "I'm going to find Murray Olivant," said the boy between his teeth. "Let me go!" "You're too late," I lied to him. "He's gone too." For I knew that at that time it would have been madness to let him go to the house in search of his brother. He suddenly turned from me, with all the courage gone out of him as it seemed, and broke down utterly. He leant his arm against a tree, and his head on his arm, and wept as though his heart would break; I trembled to see how the great sobs shook and rent him. I stood wringing my hands, and pleading with him in whispers to be calm, even while at the same time I was so shaken myself that I could scarcely get out the words. When presently that fit of despair had passed, he spoke to me like a man suddenly grown old. "I shall go to London to find her," he said slowly. "If he has harmed her, then by the mother that bore us both I'll kill him. Life can be nothing to me then, and I shall not mind what happens. Look at that hand, Tinman"--he stretched it out before him, and I saw that it was still and steady as a rock--"and take note that I do not speak in any boyish anger. If he has harmed her, it will be worse than if he had killed her, for he will have killed her soul; it'll be a small vengeance to kill his body. Don't try to stop me; I shall know where to find him in London."