Maud made no further direct efforts to
avert her guardian's wrath; but she took
the most effectual means of putting him
into a good humour, by gaily chatting
about all the little incidents of her visit to
Lowater, the concert at Danecester, and
the people who had been to the house.

She was in the midst of her talk, sitting,
still with her hat in her hand, in the vicar's
study, when the door of the room was
opened a very little way, and a voice cried:
.Miss Maud, Miss Maud! Would ye
please step here a moment?"

The voice was old Joanna's; but so
strange and muffled in its tone, that an
unreasoning apprehension of impending evil
fell upon Maud's heart.

She sprang up, and forcing a smile,
said: "Uncle Charles, I must go for an
instant to say a word to Joanna. I'll be
back as soon as possible. The dear old
woman has some mighty mystery on hand."

She closed the study door with an
instinctive care, for which she could never
afterwards account, and faced a countenance
which seemed, like Medusa's fabled
head, to turn her into stone.

The countenance was Joanna's. But so
changed, ghastly, and aged was it that
Maud would hardly, under other circumstances,
have recognised the familiar features.

"What is the matter, Joanna?" she
asked, in quick low tones, whose firmness
surprised herself.

"My dear Maudie," answered the trembling
old woman, " my sweet young lady,
don't ye lose your head. It's all we've got
to depend on! I feel my years now, as I
never felt 'em before."

Maud made a silent, eloquent gesture of
impatience.

"Yes, I will speak, deary. Mr.—- Mr.
Plew's here. He looked in by—- by—- chance
like. And—- O Lord be merciful to us, and
spare us!—he says, Miss Veronica is not at
his mother's, and what's more, hasn't been
there all night. And what to do, or what
to say, or what will become of the vicar, I
don't know!"

"Hush! Where is Mr. Plew? Take
mo to him. There is some mistake, some
misunderstanding. No harm can have
happened to Veronica, here, in her own home,
amongst her own people! It is impossible!"

"O my deary, Mr. Plew is more like a
mad creature than anything else. And as
to harm———. My innocent young lady, it
goes to my hrart to hurt you. bit I'm
afraid—I'm sore afraid——"

"Of what?"

The old woman made no answer, but
moaned and wrung her hands.

A dreadful apprehension took hold of
Maud that Mr. Plew had brought some
fatal and decisive tidings; that Veronica
was dead, and that the old servant was
endeavouring to break the news to her.
Collecting her senses as well as she could,
she bade Joanna take her to Mr. Plew at
once, and let her know the worst.

Joanna pointed to the door of the dining-
parlour, and Maud sprang into the room.

CHAPTER XIV.   FLED.

JOANNA had not much exaggerated in
saying that Mr. Plew was " more like a
madman than anything else." He did
seem to have nearly lost his senses.

"O, Miss Desmond!" he cried, as soon
as he caught sight of Maud, and then stood
dumb with clasped hands.

"Please to tell me at once. It will be
kinder, indeed it will! Is she dead?"

The utterance of the word seemed to
force a gush of tears from Maud's eyes,
but she struggled hard to command
herself.

The little surgeon recovered some spark
of manhood and courage, at sight of the
young girl's piteous, innocent face. His
professional helpfulness came to his aid,
and took him away from the contemplation
of his own distress.

"Don't try too violently to force back
your tears," he said. " Let them come.
You will not let them master you. No; I
do not think Veronica is dead. No, on my
honour. I would not deceive you!"

"What is it then? Is she ill? Has
there been any accident? Is she in
danger?"

"I wish to Heaven, Miss Desmond, that
I could answer your questions. All I know
is, that Miss Levincourt did not sleep at
my mother's house last night—did not
even go there at all—and yet she sent word
here by the boy that she meant to do so."

"But the boy may have mistaken her
message. She may have said that she was
going elsewhere. Have you asked? Have
you inquired in the village? Joanna's face
and—and yours have infected me with
terror. But I cannot—I cannot—believe
that there is any real ground for alarm."

"Alarm!" echoed the voice of Mr.
Levincourt, and the next instant he stood
in the room.

Any attempt at concealment was out of
the question. A glance at the faces of