James Cromwell came down to breakfast on the morning succeeding his attempt to drown our young hero, with as composed a manner as his nervous agitation permitted him to assume.

"Where is your young friend?" inquired the landlady, for Cromwell and Robert usually came in together.

"I have not seen him since supper," said Cromwell. "I was about to ask you if you had seen anything of him."

"Was he not here last night?"

"No, I went into his room just now, and find that his bed is untouched."

"That is strange," said Mr. Manton.

"I have felt quite troubled about him," continued Cromwell, hypocritically.

"Do you think anything has befallen him?" asked the landlady.

"I think it more likely that he has run away," said Cromwell.

"He seemed to be very quiet and gentlemanly," said Mr. Manton.

"No doubt he seemed so," said Cromwell, "but his guardian when he confided him to my charge, informed me that he was a hard case, but exceedingly artful, so that no one would suspect it. He was opposed to coming west with me, and my impression is, that he has started for New York secretly. I shall put up a notice calling for information. If I receive none I shall be compelled to go on to New York myself and give information to his guardian of his sudden disappearance."

"You will be compelled to leave your business. I should think that would be inconvenient," said Mr. Manton.

"It will be inconvenient," said Cromwell, "and probably a pecuniary loss, but I feel it my duty, and money is a secondary consideration."

"Perhaps Mr. Raymond may appear in the course of the forenoon," suggested the landlady. "It may be only a boy's adventure."

"I hope you may be right," said Cromwell, "but I hardly think it will prove so."

He did not eat much breakfast. The thought of Robert Raymond lying at the bottom of the pond kept continually recurring to him. He wondered whether he would be found and when. He would like to have set out for New York at once; but if immediately after his departure the body should be found, it would look bad, and possibly excite suspicion. He thought it would be better for him to wait two or three days, and then he would feel at liberty to start on his journey.

If during that time he attended to his business as usual, there would be no chance for suspecting him of having had anything to do with Robert's disappearance.

This course, then, he resolved to adopt, but in spite of all he could do, he was tormented by a constant, nervous anxiety. Every moment he thought of the liability that Robert's body might be discovered, and he braced himself to stand the shock.

He thought it best, however, to write a letter at once to Paul Morton, announcing the mysterious disappearance of Robert.

It ran thus:

"Paul Morton, Esq.:

"Dear Sir:—It is with great regret that I take my pen, having only bad news to communicate. Your ward, Robert Raymond, whom you placed in my charge, has mysteriously disappeared. I have seen nothing of him since yesterday at supper. He went out after that, and did not return to pass the night at his boarding house. I do not know what to think, whether he has met with any accident, perhaps of a fatal nature, or has only run away. If the latter, I suppose he would make his way to New York and present himself before you. I shall take every means of ascertaining which of these is the true explanation of his mysterious disappearance. I think of starting for New York in a couple of days, in order to see you personally, and let you know all that I can learn about this unfortunate affair, as I know that you will be deeply interested in all that concerns your ward. Your obedient servant,

"James Cromwell."

"I think that will do," said Cromwell, after reading his letter over when finished. "It tells nothing to an ordinary reader, but Mr. Morton will understand it well enough, especially when he reads the words which I have underlined. On the whole, I don't know but it will be well that the body should be found before I go, as he may need absolute proof of the boy's death before he is willing to pay me the ten thousand dollars. I wish it were well over, and the boy was buried. I can't bear to look at him; I am afraid I should get nervous, and so excite suspicion. Still it might be attributed to my sorrow for his loss."

With this idea he thought it best to look troubled, and express a considerable degree of anxiety about the lost boy, so that one who was not in the secret might have supposed that his emotion was real.

Leaving Cromwell, for a time, we will follow the course of Robert Raymond, who after receiving directions from Cato, had shaped his course for the Ohio river. Madison, as has already been stated, was situated in the southern part of Indiana. The distance between it and the Ohio river, which separates that State from Kentucky, was about fifty miles. It was Robert's intention to reach the river, and then get on board a boat, and proceed as far East as his limited funds would admit. The extent of these was but ten dollars, and ten dollars would not go a great way, unless extreme economy was practiced. Robert was willing to be economical, and when he learned that the river was but fifty miles distant, he determined to walk the whole way.

It was important that he should not be recognized. He wished James Cromwell to believe that he had succeeded in his design, and that he was drowned. Then there would be some chance of ascertaining what had been his motive in perpetrating so dark a deed. Besides, it would save him from the risk of pursuit, and he wished to make his way unmolested to the presence of his guardian, where he intended to expose the unprincipled conduct of the man to whose care he had been confided.

On the first day Robert walked about twenty miles, resting in the middle of the day. He was unaccustomed to walking and it made him footsore and weary. At four o'clock in the afternoon, he desisted and went up to a farm-house, for he was at the time passing through a sparsely settled town; he asked for accommodations for the night.

Fortunately the occupant of the farm-house was a hospitable and kind-hearted farmer, who did not, as some might have done, view him with suspicion.

"So you want to be took care of for the night, youngster," he said.

"Yes, sir," said Robert.

"Well, I guess the old woman can accommodate you. Our house is big enough, and you won't take up much room. Are you a-travelin' far?"

"Yes, I am going to New York."

"To York. That's a pretty long journey for a lad like you. It's over a thousand miles."

"Yes, it's a good ways, but I guess I can get there."

"Where are you a travelin' from?" was the next question.

"I came from the North," said Robert, evading a direct answer.

"I understand," said the farmer, shrewdly, "you don't want to tell. Well, maybe you've a good reason, and maybe not. That's not my business, only if you're running away from your father or mother, I advise you to go back again. It isn't a good thing to run away from home."

"If I had a father or mother," said Robert, earnestly, "I should be the last one to run away from them. I have neither father nor mother living."

"Have you no sisters nor brothers?"

"No."

"And you've got to make your own way in the world?" said the sympathizing farmer. "Well, I'm sorry for you."

"If you mean that I am poor, that is not the case," Robert answered. "I have been unfortunate in other ways, but my father left me a fortune, and I am going to my guardian who is in New York."

"Then how comes it that you are out here all alone?"

"I'd rather not tell now," said Robert, frankly. "The time may come when I shall return this way, and shall feel at liberty to tell you all."

"Well, well, my lad, I won't pry into your secrets. I shall be glad to have you stay with me to-night and to-morrow you can go on your way, and no questions asked."

"Thank you," said Robert.

"Now, we'll be goin' into the house, and see if supper isn't most ready. If you've been travelin' it's likely you're hungry, and I reckon the old woman will give us something we can relish."

Robert did not refuse the invitation, for in truth he was hungry. Indeed he had never felt hungrier in his life. He was soon seated at the farmer's plain board, on which was spread a homely but abundant repast, to which he did full justice.

In the morning, after a refreshing sleep, he started anew on his journey. He tried to make the farmer accept payment for his hospitality, but without success, and with his scanty funds still entire, he resumed his walk.