They saw that rest was the one thing needed. But rest could be better attained in Holby than here; and besides, there was the danger of pursuit. It was necessary to remove her; and that, too, without delay. A closed carriage was procured without much difficulty, and the patient was deposited therein. A slow journey brought them by easy stages to Holby. Beatrice remained unconscious. A nurse was procured, who traveled with her. The condition of Beatrice was the same which she described in her diary. Great grief and extraordinary suffering and excitement had overtasked the brain, and it had given way. So Despard and Langhetti conjectured. At last they reached Holby. They drove at once to Thornton Grange. “What is this?” cried Mrs. Thornton, who had heard nothing from them, and ran out upon the piazza to meet them as she saw them coming. “I have found Bice,” said Langhetti, “and have brought her here.” “Where is she?” “There,” said Langhetti. “I give her to your care--it is for you to give her back to me.” CHAPTER XXXIV. ON THE TRACK. Beatrice’s disappearance was known at Brandon Hall on the following day. The servants first made the discovery. They found her absent from her room, and no one had seen her about the house. It was an unusual thing for her to be out of the house early in the day, and of late for many months she had scarcely ever left her room, so that now her absence at once excited suspicion. The news was communicated from one to another among the servants. Afraid of Potts, they did not dare to tell him, but first sought to find her by themselves. They called Mrs. Compton, and the fear which perpetually possessed the mind of this poor, timid creature now rose to a positive frenzy of anxiety and dread. She told all that she knew, and that was that she had seen her the evening before as usual, and had left her at ten o’clock. No satisfaction therefore could be gained from her. The servants tried to find traces of her, but were unable. At length toward evening, on Potts’s return from the bank, the news was communicated to him. The rage of Potts need not be described here. That one who had twice defied should now escape him filled him with fury. He organized all his servants into bands, and they scoured the grounds till darkness put an end to these operations. That evening Potts and his two companions dined in moody silence, only conversing by fits and starts. “I don’t think she’s killed herself,” said Potts, in reply to an observation of Clark. “She’s got stuff enough in her to do it, but I don’t believe she has. She’s playing a deeper game. I only wish we could fish up her dead body out of some pond; it would quiet matters down very considerable.” “If she’s got off she’s taken with her some secrets that won’t do us any good,” remarked John. “The devil of it is,” said Potts, “we don’t know how much she does know. She must know a precious lot, or she never would have dared to say what she did.”