Herbert had made no promises, but as he paced up and down the shingle after his sister had gone in, he had time to feel that, though he was determined to act at once, the scandal of her deed must be as much as possible avoided. Indeed, he believed that she might have rendered herself amenable to prosecution for kidnapping the child, and he felt on reflection that his mother must be spared the terror and disgrace. His difficulties were much increased by the state of quarantine at Northmoor, for though the journey to Malvern had been decided upon, neither patient was yet in a state to attempt it, and as one of the servants had unexpectedly sickened with the disease, all approach to the place was forbidden; nor did he know with any certainty how far his uncle’s recovery had advanced, since Bertha, his chief informant, had gone abroad with Mrs. Bury, and Constance was still at Oxford.

He went home, and straight up to his room, feeling it intolerable to meet his sister; and there, the first sleepless night he had ever known, convinced him that to the convalescents it would be cruelty to send his intelligence, when it amounted to no more than that their poor little boy had been made over to an unscrupulous woman and a violent, good-for-nothing man.

‘No,’ said Herbert, as he tossed over; ‘it would be worse than believing him quietly dead, now they have settled down to that. I must get him back before they know anything about it. But how? I must hunt up those wretches’ people here, and find where they are gone; if they know—as like as not they won’t. But I’ll throw everything up till I find the boy!’ He knelt up in his bed, laid his hand on his Bible—his uncle’s gift—and solemnly swore it.

And Herbert was another youth from that hour.

When he had brought his ideas into some little order, the foremost was that he must see Rose Rollstone, discover how much she knew or guessed, and bind her to silence. ‘No fear of her, jolly little thing!’ said he to himself; but, playfellows as they had been, private interviews were not easy to secure under present circumstances.

However, the tinkling of the bell of the iron church suggested an idea. ‘She is just the little saint of a thing to be always off to church at unearthly hours. I’ll catch her there—if only that black coat isn’t always after her!’

So Herbert hurried off to the iron building, satisfied himself with a peep that Rose’s sailor hat was there, and then—to make sure of her—crept into a seat by the door, and found his plans none the worse for praying for all needing help in mind, body, or estate. Rose came out alone, and he was by her side at once. ‘I say, Rose, you did not speak about that last night?’

‘Oh no, indeed!’

‘You’re a brick! I got it all out of that sister of mine. I’m only ashamed that she is my sister!’

‘And where is the dear little boy?’

‘That’s the point,’ and Herbert briefly explained his difficulties, and Rose agreed that he must try to learn where the emigrants had gone, from their relations. And when he expressed his full intention of following them, even if he had to work his passage, before telling the parents, she applauded the nobleness of the resolution, and all the romance in her awoke at the notion of his bringing home the boy and setting him before his parents. She was ready to promise secrecy for the sake of preventing the prosecution that might, as Herbert saw, be a terrible thing for the whole family; and besides, it must be confessed, the two young things did rather enjoy the sharing of a secret. Herbert promised to meet her the next morning, and report his discoveries and plans, as in fact she was the only person with whom he could take counsel.

He did meet her accordingly, going first to the church. He had to tell her that he had been able to make nothing of Mrs. Hall. He was not sure whether she knew where her daughter had gone; at any rate, she would not own to any knowledge, being probably afraid. Besides, when acting as charwoman, Master Herbert had been such a torment to her that she was not likely to oblige him.

He had succeeded better with the Jones family, and perhaps had learnt prudence, for he had not begun by asking for the Rattler, but for the respectable brother who had invited him out, and had thus learnt that the destination of the emigrant was Toronto, where the elder brother was employed on the British Empress, Ontario steamer. Mrs. Jones, the mother, and her eldest son were decent people, and there was no reason to think they were aware of the encumbrances that their scapegrace had taken with him.

So Herbert had resolved, without delay, to make his way to Toronto; where he hoped to find the child, and maybe, bring him back in a month’s time.

‘Only,’ said Rose timidly, ‘did you really mean what you said about working your way out?’

‘Well, Rose, that’s the hitch. I had to pay up some bills after I got my allowance, and unluckily I changed my bicycle, and the rascals put a lot more on the new one, and I haven’t got above seven pounds left, and I must keep some for the rail from New York and for getting home, for I can’t take the kid home in the steerage. The bicycle’s worth something, and so is my watch, if I put them in pawn; so I think I can do it that way, and I’m quite seaman enough to get employment, only I don’t want to lose time about it.’

‘I was thinking,’ said Rose shyly; ‘they made me put into the Post Office Savings Bank after I began to get a salary. I have five-and-twenty pounds there that I could get out in a couple of days, and I should be so glad to help to bring that dear little boy home.’

‘Oh, Rose, you are a girl! You see, you are quite safe not to lose it, for my uncle would be only too glad to pay it back, even if I came to grief any way, and it would make it all slick smooth. I would go to Liverpool straight off, and cross in the first steamer, and the thing’s done. And can you get at it at once with nobody knowing?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ said Rose. ‘My father asked to see my book when first I came home, and he is not likely to do so again, till I can explain all about it, and I am sure it cannot be wrong.’

‘Wrong—no! Right as a trivet! Rose, Rose, if ever that poor child sees his father and mother again, it is every bit your doing! No one can tell what I think of it, or what my uncle and aunt will say to you! You’ve been the angel in this, if Ida has been the other thing!’

But Rose found difficulties in the way of her angelic part, for her father addressed her in his most solemn and sententious manner: ‘Rose, I have always looked on you as sensible and discreet, but I have to say that I disapprove of your late promenades with a young man connected with the aristocracy.’

Rose coloured up a good deal, but cried out, ‘It’s not that, papa, not that!’

‘I do not suppose either you or he is capable at present of forming any definite purpose,’ said Mr. Rollstone, not to be baulked of his discourse; ‘but you must bear in mind that any appearance of encouragement to a young man in his position can only have a most damaging effect on your prospects, and even reputation, however flattering he may appear.’

‘I know it, papa, I know it! There has been nothing of the kind, I assure you,’ said Rose, who during the last discourse had had time to reflect; ‘and he is going away to-morrow or next day, so you need not be afraid, though I must see him or send to him once more before he goes.’

‘Well, if you are helping him to get some present for his sisters, I do not see so much objection for this once; only it must not occur again.’

Rose was much tempted to let this suggestion stand, but truth forbade her, and she said, ‘No, papa, I cannot say it is that; but you will know all about it before long, and you will not disapprove, if you will only trust your little Rose,’ and she looked up for a kiss.

‘Well, I never found you not to be trusted, though you are a coaxing puss,’ said her father, and so the matter ended with him, but she had another encounter with her mother.

‘Mind, Rose, if that churching—which Sunday was enough for any good girl in my time—is only to lead to walking with young gents which has no call to you, I won’t have it done.’

Mrs. Rollstone was not cultivated up to her husband’s mark, neither had she ever inspired so much confidence, and Rose made simple answer, ‘It is all right, mamma; I have spoken to papa about it.’

‘Oh, if your pa knows, I suppose he is satisfied; but men aren’t the same as a mother, and if that there young Mr. Morton comes dangling and gallanting after you, he is after no good.’

‘He is doing no such thing,’ said Rose in a resolutely calm voice that might have shown that she was with difficulty controlling her temper; ‘and, besides, he is going away.’

Wherewith Mrs. Rollstone had to be satisfied.

Rose took a bold measure when she had taken her five five-pound notes from the savings bank. She saw her father preparing to waddle out for his daily turn on the beach, and she put the envelope containing them, addressed to H. Morton, Esq., into his hand, begging him to give it to Mr. Morton himself.

Which he did, when he met Herbert trying to soothe his impatience with a cigar.

‘Here, sir,’ he said, ‘my daughter wishes me to give you this. I don’t ask what it is, mind; but I tell you plainly, I don’t like secrets between young people.’

Herbert tried to laugh naturally, then said, ‘Your daughter is no end of a trump, Mr. Rollstone.’

‘Only recollect this, sir—I know my station and I know yours, and I will have no nonsense with her.’

‘All right!’ said Herbert shortly, with a laugh, his head too full of other matters to think what all this implied.

He wished to avoid exciting any disturbance, so he told his mother that he should be off again the next day.

‘It is very hard,’ grumbled Mrs. Morton, ‘that you can never be contented to stay with your poor mother! I did hope that with the regatta, and the yachts, and Mr. Brady, you would find amusement enough to give us a little of your company; but nothing is good enough for you now. Which of your fine friends are you going to?’

Herbert was not superior to an evasion, and said, ‘I’m going up to town first, and shall see Dacre, and I’ll write by and by.’

She resigned herself to the erratic movements of the son, who, being again, in her eyes, heir to the peerage, was to her like a comet in a higher sphere.