“Yes—yes!” said Elizabeth, “we will go. We may still find Dr. Leroy at Castleborough!” She rushed out, and gave Tom Boddily orders to make ready for an instant start, to order a carriage and post-horses for Ryde, whilst she ran and intrusted her aunt with all matters of payment for the house for their short term. Tom seemed to disappear as on wings. A single hour saw them on their way to Ryde. In those times, however, there were not the numerous steam-packets crossing. There was no railway to receive them at Portsmouth. With all possible speed, however, they continued their journey, and on the third day reached Fair Manor, only to learn that Dr. Leroy had sailed from London in an Indiaman, in which he had taken the office of surgeon for the voyage the day after he left the Isle of Wight. All Castleborough was full of wonder and speculation over this, to it, strange event. Some desperate cause, every one felt, must have produced such a catastrophe. Dr. Leroy was so noted for the calmness and equanimity of his disposition. At Fair Manor a profound sorrow reigned, and a deep and brooding silence lay over it. Sylvanus Crook opened the gates for the fly bringing the two young ladies from Castleborough, in silence. Sukey Priddo, when she came to the door, looked as if she had seen an apparition, and ran to tell Mrs. Heritage. Mrs. Heritage came hastily from her room. There were signs of much weeping on her fair, but solemn, and now pale face. She clasped her daughter, who sunk into her arms in tears, and without a word, and carried her, as it were, into the sitting room, and thence into a small private room beyond. Elizabeth Drury left mother and daughter some time to themselves, and then, gently knocking at the door, said she would go on home, and come to inquire after Millicent in the morning. Mrs. Heritage seized Elizabeth almost convulsively, and kissed her passionately again and again, and then turned and sat down by her daughter. And what a sight was it of that lately so happy daughter! She sat motionless, pale as a corpse, and with a face of such intense wretchedness as the young usually glad spirits of Elizabeth had formed no conception of. She fell on her knees before the unhappy girl, clasped her fondly, and looking into her ghostlike face with streaming eyes, said, “Dearest Millicent! don’t! don’t be so cast down! Things may be better yet. They may!—they will!—they must! God will not afflict us all so cruelly.” Millicent kissed her friend gratefully, and said, with a wondering look, “But how can that be?—But I am very faint; I will go to bed.”