WHILE Andrew was starting over the hills in the darkness, the family had gathered in the hall. Master Mowbray had seen that the drawbridge was raised and that everything was safe for the night. Audry soon wondered what had become of Aline and after a time made an excuse to get away and went up to their room and down to the secret chamber. “Is not Aline here?” she queried.

“No,” said Ian, “she has not been down for a long time.”

Ian came towards Audry as she spoke. “Why? cannot you find her?” he said.

“No, she is not in the hall and not in our room.”

“Perhaps old Elspeth knows.”

“I had forgotten her for the moment,” and Audry’s face brightened up. “I will run and find her.” This she did at once but Aline had not been seen.

At length Audry felt that she must tell the others. So she came back to the great hall and told Master Mowbray that Aline had disappeared.

“’Sdeath,” he exclaimed, “what has happened to her; call the men at once, run, Audry.”

“Oddsfish man,” said Mistress Mowbray, “one would think the child was an infant that could not take care116 of itself,—making such a fuss as that! And I do not see that it would be so very great a matter if she were lost. Why, you make as much a to-do about her as though she were your own daughter. The hussie is up to mischief and she will see that she does herself no harm.”

Master Mowbray did not wait for all this, but left his wife talking to the empty air. The first thing was to rouse all the servants and every room inside was speedily examined, but with no result. “She must have gone out before the gate was shut,” suggested Audry, “but that is a very unusual thing. She might have gone to speak with one of the servants and crossed the bridge just before it was closed. But even if she had walked a little way and not heard them close the gate, she would have rung the great bell. Surely she would not be too frightened.”

To be out after the drawbridge was raised was a very serious fault as every one in the Hall knew full well, and many a servant had rather run the risk of staying out all night than incur the wrath and penalties that would follow such an offence.

“I hope the child has not come back and walked into the moat,” said Master Mowbray. “It is a terribly dark night. Come this way,” he added in a husky voice. In his rough way he was fonder of her than he would have admitted even to himself, and her spell was increasing its hold upon him.

They went to the gate and the drawbridge was instantly lowered. They then crossed the bridge and divided into two parties, taking their lanthorns to the right and left.

117

Audry accompanied her father to the left and they had not gone ten paces before they came upon Aline’s little form lying in a broken piece of the moat-wall, half in and half out of the water. It was easy to get down to the water in many places on the outer side although impossible on the inner side. Master Mowbray stepped down and picked up the slight figure and carried it into the hall.

She had apparently been dead for some time, and Audry broke into uncontrollable weeping; her whole frame shook violently and it almost seemed that she would choke herself. Every one stood aghast. Even Mistress Mowbray felt something of the atmosphere of grief; she was the only one sufficiently unmoved to speak at all, but she said, “Poor little lassie, that was a hard ending. But, Audry dear, you must try and control yourself, you will make yourself seriously ill.”

“I do not mind if I do,” the child sobbed in reply. “Oh, Aline, darling Aline, do not leave me, I cannot bear it,” and she flung herself on to the small still form on the old oak settle and they feared her heart would break.

By this time every one was weeping, even the men-servants and Mistress Mowbray herself.

But as Audry passionately pressed the cold wet features to her face, she suddenly cried out, “She is not dead. I am sure she is not dead, I am sure that she still breathes.”

There was a fire in the hall, as the summer was getting on and the evenings were chilly up in the moorland district. In less time than it takes to say, a bed had been made up by the fire and warmed with a warming118 pan, and old Elspeth had tenderly undressed the child and put her in the bed, while some one else had brought some warm milk. Elspeth was bending over her and lightly rubbing the damp hair, half crooning to herself, “My bairnie, my bonnie bairnie, wake up, my sweetest, wake up once more.” Suddenly Aline opened her eyes and looked round for a moment, and then closed them again. She gave no more sign that night and it was an anxious time; but hope was strong. Hardly any one went to bed but Mistress Mowbray. Even the servants for the most part wandered about, coming every now and then to ask if there was any news. The child was a favourite with nearly all of them, as much on account of her gentle thoughtful ways as on account of her extreme almost supernatural beauty. Then there was that strange mysterious power that seemed to hold practically every one with whom she came into contact. There were, of course, one or two who felt her very presence was a sort of standing reproach and who disliked her accordingly, but such was the extraordinary sweetness of her disposition that some, even in this class, found themselves coaxed to a certain extent out of their worse into their better selves against their will.

In the morning it was apparent that immediate danger was passed, which caused Mistress Mowbray to exclaim,—“Drat the bairn for frightening us all like that without any reason. How stupid of her to fall into the moat.”

As soon as Aline was able to talk she had to explain how it happened. They had gently moved her to another room and Audry and Master Mowbray were seated at the bedside. She had told them of what she had seen119 and how Andrew had thrown her into the water. “As I fell,” she went on, “I felt my head strike violently against something. I luckily did not become unconscious at once, but was able to scramble through the water to the bank. I remember trying to get into a sort of hole in the wall, and then I remember no more till this morning.”

“But can you swim?” said Master Mowbray in blank astonishment, as it was not considered a little girl’s accomplishment.

“A little bit,” said Aline, not too anxious to draw attention to her powers in this direction; as after the River Tees incident she felt it might be better if they did not know what she was capable of doing.

“I am afraid, sire, that the man is likely to be the same that took your silver cup and other things,” she said, “but I am glad that I have not had my wetting for nothing, and that you will be able to stop any more corn being taken.”

Master Mowbray stooped and kissed her. He did not often kiss the children, not even Audry, as his was not a demonstrative nature. “Poor sweet soul,” he said, “how can I repay you for what you have done?”

“Let us go into the library again,” said Aline at once.

“Of course, of course,” he said hastily; “however, we must do something better than that; but for the present I must see about those scoundrels, Andrew Woolridge and Thomas Carluke.”

When Thomas heard what had happened on his arrival in the morning he cursed the fates, saying to himself, “Why was Andrew such a fool as not to go and get a long rod and feel all around that moat-side. She120 could never have got out on the inner side. But who would have known that the skelpie could swim?” and he bit his lips in indignation. “I wonder if they will suspect me? No, Andrew is gone. I shall be safe; but curse her, curse her a thousand times.”

Andrew had not even dared to go to his own house but had slipped away over the hills at once; consequently, when they sent down there, nothing was known of him. News, however, soon leaked out of what had happened and soon the whole country-side was on his track, with the consequence that, before three days were spent,............