Part 27 (1/2)

Wildtree Towers had been thrown into a state of unmistakable panic when, at the usual hour of retiring for the night, Percy had not put in an appearance. His absence at dinner-time agitated no one but his mother; and the search inst.i.tuted at her bidding began languidly, and with the usual a.s.surance of a speedy discovery. But as hour pa.s.sed hour and no tidings came, things began to look serious, and even Walker pulled a long face.

Midnight came, and still no tidings. Appleby came up to the house for a lantern, but had nothing to report beyond the fact that the search so far had been unsuccessful. The minutes dragged on for the unhappy watchers. It was harder far for them to sit there in the hall, listening to the unsympathetic tick of the clock and starting at every sound on the gravel without, than it was for the father to tramp through the woods and trace the footsteps along the river's bank.

At last the clock struck two, and scarcely had the chimes ceased, when Walker put up his finger, and exclaimed,--

”Hist!”

A moment of terrible silence ensued. Then on their quickened hearing there came a distant rumble of wheels. Almost at the same instant footsteps came tearing up the gravel drive. It was Appleby, who rushed into the midst of the group a.s.sembled on the doorstep.

”All right--he's found!” gasped the lad.

”Is he alive?” cried the mother.

”On a cart!” exclaimed the panting Appleby.

Mrs Rimbolt gave a little shriek, and fell into her husband's arms.

Raby, nerved by the very agony of the suspense, rushed out and ran down the drive to meet the cart.

”Is Percy there?” she cried.

The cart stopped abruptly, and a strange voice replied,--

”Yes--safe and well and fast asleep.”

The words fell like music on the girl's ears. It was too dark to see anything but the shadowy form of the cart and of a man walking at the horse's head. She darted back to the house with the joyful news, and in another minute the cart stood at the door. Percy, who was decidedly enjoying his sleep, felt by no means as grateful as he should have been to find himself disturbed at this early hour of the night.

”All serene! all serene!” he growled, in response to his mother's caresses and Walker's effusive shaking of the hand. ”I'm all right, mother; I want to go to bed.”

”Get the hot bath ready,” said Mrs Rimbolt to the servants. ”My poor boy!”

”I tell you I'm all serene; can't you let me go to bed?” said the half- awake Percy. ”I don't want anything except sleep.”

”Walker, help Master Percy up to bed; let him take our room, and light a fire in it, and put hot bottles in the bed.”

Percy, thankful to get back to his slumbers at any price, allowed Walker to help him up stairs. At the door of his own room he stopped.

”That will do; you can cut. Walker.”

”But you're to have the best room and a fire--”

”You be hanged!” exclaimed the boy, unceremoniously slamming the door in Walker's face, and locking himself in.

Downstairs, meanwhile, Jeffreys was being besieged with questions on all hands, which he endeavoured as best he could to answer. Mr Rimbolt, however perceiving that very little good was to be got out of this confused cross-examination, asked him to follow him into the library, once more suggesting to his wife and niece that they should go to bed.

Jeffreys was thankful to find himself in a serene atmosphere, and despite all the agitation and excitement of the day, his heart warmed as he looked round on the bookshelves and their friendly occupants.

”Now,” said Mr Rimbolt, who had made no attempt to take part in the babel outside, ”will you please tell me everything?”

Jeffreys obeyed, and told his story in a concise and intelligent manner, which convinced Mr Rimbolt he had not only an honest man but a gentleman to deal with. The master of Wildtree was not an effusive man, and if Jeffreys had looked to be overwhelmed with grateful speeches he would have been disappointed. But he had not looked for it, and valued far more the quiet confidential manner in which Mr Rimbolt entered into all the details of the narrative.

”Then,” said the latter, when the story was ended, ”as a matter of fact you have the three ruffians penned in the shed by your dog at this moment--an excellent piece of management.”