the speaker pleasure.
“He said then he was going out, and should not be home for some days.”
“Well,” said Judith, “it’s not Mr. Carlton I want. I came to ask whether one of our young ladies had stepped in here to shelter from the rain.”
“Who is your young ladies?” came the next question.
“The Miss Chesneys. One of them went into town this evening, and, as she’s not come home, she must have taken shelter somewhere. We thought perhaps it was here.”
“No young lady has took shelter here. There’s been nobody here at all but Mrs. Newberry’s servant, saying her mistress was worse, so I had to send her on to Mr. Grey’s. She was as impudent as could be when she found Mr. Carlton had gone away for some days, wanting to know why he could not have told them of it.”
“My young lady is not here, then?”
“She’s not here, and she has not been here. I’ll make Evan paste a notice on the lamp tomorrow night, ‘Mr. Carlton’s out of town,'" pursued the voice, wrathfully. “There’s no fun in being rung up for nothing, just as you get into your first sleep.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have done it,” said Judith, “but I couldn’t help myself. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Judith halted at the gate, wondering what should be her next step. As she stood there a sudden thought like a ray of light—only not a pleasant ray—flashed upon her, and her mind was suddenly opened to a conviction of the truth. A conviction as sure and certain as though she had seen the drama of the night enacted. Mr. Carlton’s sudden journey and Laura’s disappearance only too fully proved what the drama had been.
She went home with lagging steps:—why hasten to impart the news she carried? Her mistress, whose anxious ear had caught the sound of the advancing footsteps, met her at the gate, and saw that she was alone.
“O Judith! have you not found her?”
“No, miss. I—I—"
“What?” said Jane.
Judith entered upon her task in the best manner that she could, hinting at first very remotely at her fears. Not immediately did the appalling meaning, the truth, become clear to the unhappy listener—that Laura Chesney had abandoned her father’s home.
CHAPTER XVIII.A DELIGHTFUL JAUNT.
South Wennock, as you may readily imagine, was up in arms the following morning. Such a dish of news had not been served out to it since the death of the ill-fated lady in Palace Street. There were two dishes now: the accession of Captain Chesney to the earldom of Oakburn, and the elopement of one of his daughters with Mr. Carlton.
Very cleverly had the getting away been accomplished; and if some mishaps overtook the bride and bridegroom elect before the close of the night’s journey, why, they did not materially retard the flight.
Mr. Carlton had laid his plans well. He was a clever plotter. The scheme arranged with Laura was, that he should be in a lane leading from the Rise, in his open carriage at dusk, and that Laura should join him there. This lane, called Blister Lane, and other lanes and by-roads, little frequented, led to a small place named Lichford, where some of the railway trains stopped for passengers. It was seven miles distant from South Wennock, and Mr. Carlton knew that his open carriage would skim over the ground as quickly as any other conveyance; and it would have this advantage, that nobody but himself would then be cognisant of the departure. He did not dare to appear with Laura at the more frequented station of Great Wennock; a hundred eyes would have recognised them.
Cleverly did he keep the secret. He went about his business that day as usual, seeing his patients; he visited them on foot, that his horse might be fresh for the night journey. He said not a word to any one of his invalids of his proposed absence; it would not have been expedient; he said not a word at home. He dined as usual; afterwards he went upstairs to his room; and when it grew so dusk that candles had to be lighted, he rang the bell and ordered the carriage round. Not a minute did he keep it waiting at the door, but came down with a portmanteau in his hand. The woman servant was in the hall as he crossed it, and looked at the portmanteau.
“I am going out for a few days,” he said.
She was too much surprised to make any reply or ask any question; it seemed so strange that he should be departing in that sudden manner. Mr. Carlton passed out to the gate, where his carriage waited. Evan was at the horse’s head, dressed as usual to accompany his master. It was the same horse which had come to grief that Sunday night; Mr. Carlton had had him in use again about a week; Evan had been well much longer.
“I shall not want you with me to-night, Evan,” said his master, when he had taken the reins to ascend.
Evan, as Hannah had done, wondered where his master was going; but it was no concern