At last, after about three hours’ walk, the dog stopped at a place by the road-side, and snuffed in all directions. The others watched him anxiously for a long time. The dog ran all around sniffing at the ground, but to no purpose. He had lost the trail. Again and again he tried to recover it. But his blood-thirsty instinct was completely at fault. The trail had gone, and at last the animal came up to his master and crouched down at his feet with a low moan. “Sold!” cried John, with a curse. “What can have become of her?” said Potts. “I don’t know,” said John. “I dare say she’s got took up in some wagon. Yes, that’s it. That’s the reason why the trail has gone.” “What shall we do now? We can’t follow. It may have been the coach, and she may have got a lift to the nearest railway station.” “Well,” said John, “I’ll tell you what we can do. Let one of us go to the inns that are nearest, and ask if there was a girl in the coach that looked like her, or make any inquiries that may be needed. We could find out that much at any rate.” The others assented. John swore he was too tired. At length, after some conversation, they all determined to go on, and to hire a carriage back. Accordingly on they went, and soon reached an inn. Here they made inquiries, but could learn nothing whatever about any girl that had stopped there. Potts then hired a carriage and drove off to the next inn, leaving the others behind. He returned in about two hours. His face bore an expression of deep perplexity. “Well, what luck, dad?” asked John. “There’s the devil to pay,” growled Potts. “Did you find her?” “There is a girl at the next inn, and it’s her. Now what name do you think they call her by?” “What?” “Miss Despard.” Clark turned pale and looked at John, who gave a long, low whistle. “Is she alone?” asked John. “No--that’s the worst of it. A reverend gent is with her, who has charge of her, and says he is her brother.” “Who?” “His name is Courtenay Despard, son of Colonel Lionel Despard,” said Potts. The others returned his look in utter bewilderment. “I’ve been thinking and thinking,” said Potts, “but I haven’t got to the bottom of it yet. We can’t do any thing just now, that’s evident. I found out that this reverend gent is on his way to Holby, where he is rector. The only thing left for us to do is to go quietly home and look about us.” “It seems to me that this is like the beginning of one of those monsoon storms,” said Clark, gloomily. The others said nothing. In a short time they were on their way back, moody and silent. CHAPTER XXXV. BEATRICE’S RECOVERY. It was not easy for the overtasked and overworn powers of Beatrice to rally. Weeks passed before she opened her eyes to a recognition of the world around her. It was March when she sank down by the road-side. It was June when she began to recover from the shock of the terrible excitement through which she had passed.