Now, it so happened that the fuss and confusion incident on Evelyn’s departure had penetrated¹ to every individual in the Castle with the exception of the Squire²; but the Squire had been absent all day on business. He had been attending a very important meeting in a neighboring town, and, as his custom was, told his wife that he should probably not return until the early morning. When this was the case the door opening into his private apartments was left on the latch³. He could himself open it with his latch-key and let himself in, go to bed in a small room prepared for the purpose, and not disturb the rest of the family. Lady Frances had many times during the previous evening lamented⁴ her husband’s absence, but when twelve o’clock came and the police who had been sent to search for Evelyn could nowhere find the little girl, and when the different servants had searched the house in vain, and all that one woman could think of had been done, Lady Frances, feeling uncomfortable, but also convinced in her own mind that Evelyn and Jasper were quite safe and snug⁵ somewhere, resolved to go to bed.  
“It is no use, Audrey,” she said to her daughter; “you have cried yourself out of recognition. My 378 dear child, you must go to bed now, and to sleep. That naughty, naughty girl is not worth our all being ill.”
 
“But, oh, mother! what has happened to her?”
 
“She is with Jasper, of course.”
 
“But suppose she is not, mother?”
 
“I do not suppose what is not the case, Audrey. She is beyond doubt with that pernicious woman, and as far as I am concerned I wash my hands of her.”
 
“And—the disgrace to-morrow?” said poor Audrey.
 
“My darling, you at least shall not be subjected to it. If I could find Evelyn I would take her myself to the school, and make her stand up before the scholars and tell them all that she had done; or if she refused I would tell for her. But as she is not here you are not going to be disgraced, my precious. I shall write a line to Miss Henderson telling her that the guilty party has flown, and that you are far too distressed⁶ to go to school; and I shall beg her to take any steps she thinks best. Really and truly that girl has made the place too hot to live in; I shall ask your father to take us abroad for the winter.”
 
“But surely, mother, you will not allow poor little Evelyn to get quite lost; you will try to find her?”
 
“Oh, my dear! have I not been trying? Do not say any more to me about her to-night. I am really so irritated that I may say something I shall be sorry for afterwards.” 379
So Audrey went to bed, and being young, she soon dropped asleep. Lady Frances, being dead tired, also slept; and the Squire, who knew nothing of all the fuss and trouble, came in at an early hour in the morning.
 
He lay down to sleep, and awoke after a short slumber⁷. He then got up, dressed, and went into his grounds.
 
Lady Frances and Audrey were at breakfast—Lady Frances very pale, and Audrey with traces of her violent weeping the night before still on her face—when a servant burst in great terror and excitement into the room.
 
“Oh, your ladyship,” he exclaimed, “the Squire is lying in the copse badly shot with his own gun! One of the grooms⁹ is with him, and Jones has gone for the doctor, and I came at once to tell your ladyship.”
 
Poor Lady Frances in her agony scarcely knew what she was doing. Audrey asked a frenzied¹⁰ question, and soon the two were bending over the stricken man. The Squire was shot badly in the side. A new fowling-piece lay a yard or two away.
 
“How did it happen?” said Lady Frances. “What can it mean?”
 
Audrey knelt by her father, took his icy-cold hand in hers, and held it to her lips. Was he dead?
 
As he lay there the young girl for the first time in all her life learned how passionately¹¹, how dearly she loved him. What would life be without him? In some ways she was nearer to her mother than to 380 her father, but just now, as he lay looking like death itself, he was all in all to her.
 
“Oh, when will the doctor come?” said Lady Frances, raising her haggard face. “Oh, he is bleeding to death—he is bleeding to death!”
 
With all her knowledge—and it was considerable—with all her common-sense, on which she prided herself, Lady Frances knew very little about illness and still less about wounds. She did not know how to stop the bleeding, and it was well the doctor, a bright-faced young man from the neighboring village, was soon on the spot. He examined the wounds, looked at the gun, did what was necessary to stop the immediate¹² bleeding, and soon the Squire was carried on a hastily improvised¹³ litter back to his stately home.
 
An hour ago in the prime of life, in the prime of strength; now, for all his terrified wife and daughter could know, he was already in the shadow of death.
 
“Will he die, doctor?” asked Audrey.
 
The young doctor looked at her pitifully.
 
“I cannot tell,” he replied; “it depends upon how far the bullet has penetrated. It is unfortunate that he should have been shot in such a dangerous part of the body. How did it happen?”
 
A groom⁸ now came up and told a hasty tale.
 
“The Squire called me this morning,” he said, “and told me to go into his study and bring him out his new fowling-piece, which had been sent from London a few days ago. I brought it just as it 381 was. He took it without noticing it much. I was about to turn round and say to him, ‘It is at full cock—perhaps you don’t know, sir,’ but I thought, of course, he had loaded it and prepared it himself; and the next minute he was climbing a hedge. I heard a report, and he was lying just where you found him.”
 
The question which immediately followed this recital¹⁴ was, “Who had loaded the gun?”
 
Another doctor was summoned, and another telegraphed for from London, and great was the agitation¹⁵ and misery¹⁶. By and by Audrey found herself alone. She could scarcely understand her own sensations. In the first place, she was absolutely useless. Her mother was absorbed in the sickroom; the servants were all occupied—even Read was engaged as temporary nurse until a trained one should arrive. Poor Audrey put on her hat and went out.
 
“If only my dear Miss Sinclair were here!” she thought. “Even if Evelyn were here it would be better than nothing. Oh, no wonder we quite forget Evelyn in a time of anguish¹⁷ like the present!”
 
Then a fearful thought stabbed her to the heart.
 
“If anything happens——” She could not get her lips to form the word she really thought of. Once again she used the conventional phrase:
 
“If anything happens, Evelyn will be mistress here.”
 
She looked wildly around her.
 
“Oh! I must find some one; I must speak to some one,” she thought. “I will go to Sylvia; it is no 382 great distance to The Priory. I will go over there at once.”
 
She walked quickly. She was glad of the exercise—of any excuse to keep moving. She soon reached The Priory, and was just about to put her hand on the latch to open the big gates when a girl appeared on the other side—a girl with a white face, somewhat sullen¹⁸ in outline, with big brown eyes, and a quantity of fair hair falling over her shoulders. Even in the midst of her agitation Audrey gave a gasp¹⁹.
 
“Evelyn!” she said.
 
“I am not going with you,” said Evelyn. She backed away, and a look of apprehension²⁰ crossed her face. “Why have you come here? You never come to The Priory. What are you doing here? Go away. You need not think you will have anything to do with me in the future. I know it is all up with me. I suppose you have come from the school to—to torture me!”
 
“Don’t, Evelyn—don’t,” said Audrey. “Oh, the misery you caused us last night! But that is nothing to what has happened now. Listen, and forget yourself for a minute.”
 
Poor Audrey tottered²¹ forward; her composure gave way. The next moment her head was on her cousin’s shoulder; she was sobbing²² as if her heart would break.
 
“Why, how strange you are!” said Evelyn, distressed and slightly softened²³, but, all the same, much annoyed at what she believed would frustrate²⁴ all her 383 plans. For things had been going so well! The poor, silly old man who lived at The Priory was too ill to take any notice. She and Sylvia could do as they pleased. Jasper was Mr. Leeson’s nurse. Mr. Leeson was delirious²⁵ and talking wild nonsense. Evelyn was in a scene of excitement; she was petted and made much of. Why did Audrey come to remind her of that world from which she had fled?
 
“I suppose it was rather bad this morning at school,” she said. “I can imagine what a fuss they kicked up—what a shindy—all about nothing! But there! yes, of course, I do not mind saying now that I did do it. I was sorry afterwards; I would not have done it if I had known—if I had guessed that everybody would be so terribly miserable²⁶. But you do not suppose—you do not suppose, Audrey, that I, who am to be the owner of Castle Wynford some day——”
 
But at these words Audrey gave a piercing cry:
 
“Some day! Oh, Evelyn, it may be to-day!”
 
“What do you mean?” said Evelyn, her face turning very white. She pushed Audrey, who was a good deal taller than her cousin, away and looked up at her. Audrey had now ceased crying; she wiped the tears from her cheeks.
 
“I must tell you,” she ............