That last sleep lasted long, till the sound of the little tinkling bell came through the open window, and then the first waking thought that Mite was alive was at first taken for a mere blissful dream. It was only the sight of the woolly dog that recalled with certainty the conversation with Ida.

To pursue that strange hint was of course the one impulse. The bell had ceased before Frank had been able to finish dressing, but the house was so far from having wakened to full life, that remembering the lateness of the breakfast hour, he decided on hastening out to lay his anxious, throbbing feelings before his God, if only to join in the prayer that our desires may be granted as may be most expedient for us.

Nor was he without a hope that the girl whom Constance described as so devout and religious might be found there.

And she was; he knew her by sight well enough to accost her when she came out with ‘Miss Rollstone, I believe?’

She bowed, her heart thumping almost as much as the father’s, in the importance of what she had to tell, and the doubt how much she had a right to speak without betrayal.

‘I am told,’ Lord Northmoor said, with a tremble in his voice, ‘that you think you saw my poor little boy.’

‘I am almost sure I did,’ said Rose.

‘And when, may I ask?’

‘On the evening of the Wednesday in Whitsun week,’ said Rose.

‘Just when he was lost—and where?’

‘At the North Station. I had got into the train at the main station. I saw him put into the train at the North one, and taken out at Waterloo.’

‘And why—why, may I ask, have we been left—have we never heard this before?’

His voice shook, as he thought of all the misery to himself and his wife that might have been spared, as well as the danger of the child. Rose hesitated, doubting how much she ought to say, and Mr. Deyncourt came out.

‘May I introduce myself?’ said Frank, hoping for an auxiliary,—‘Lord Northmoor. I have just heard that Miss Rollstone thinks she saw my little boy in the London train the day he disappeared; and I am trying to understand whether there is really any hope that she is right, and that we can recover him.’

Mr. Deyncourt was infinitely surprised, and spoke a few words of wonder that this had not been made known. Rose found it easier to speak to him.

‘I saw Louisa Hall with him; I did not know she was not still his maid. I thought she had been sent to take him somewhere. And when I heard from home that he—he was—drowned, I only thought the likeness had deceived me. It was not till Mr. Morton came home, and we talked it over, that I understood that Louisa Hall was dismissed long ago, and was eloping to Canada.

‘And then,’ for she had spoken falteringly, and with an effort, as their sounds of inquiry elicited each sentence—‘and then, Mr. Morton said he would follow her to Canada. He did not want Lady Northmoor to be tortured with uncertainty.’

‘Very strange,’ said the gentlemen one to the other, Lord Northmoor adding—

‘Thank you, Miss Rollstone; I will not detain you, unless you can tell me more.’

Rose was glad to be released, though pained and vexed not to dare to express her reasons for full certainty.

‘Is this only a girl’s fancy?’ sighed the father.

‘I think she is a sensible girl.’

‘And my nephew Herbert is a hard-headed fellow, not likely to fly off on a vague notion. Is this Hall girl’s mother still living here?’

‘Certainly. It has been a bad business, her going off with that Jones; but I ascertained that she was married to him.’

‘Jones—Sam Jones, or Rattler?’

‘Even so.’

‘Ah! She was dismissed on his account. And I detected him in imposing on Miss Morton. Yet—where does this Mrs. Hall live?’

‘Along this alley. Shall I come with you?’

‘Thank you.’

‘It may induce her to speak out, if there is anything to hear. I dare not hope! It is too incredible, and I don’t understand those children’s silence.’

He spoke it almost to himself, and the clergyman thought it kinder not to interrupt his thoughts during the few steps down the evil-smelling alley that led to the house, where Mrs. Hall was washing up her cup after breakfast. It was Mr. Deyncourt who spoke, seeing that the swelling hope and doubt were almost too much for his companion.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Hall; we have come to you early, but Lord Northmoor is very anxious to know whether you can throw any light on what has become of his little boy.’

Mrs. Hall was in a very different state of mind from when she had denied all knowledge to Herbert, a mere boy, whom she did not like, and when she was anxious to shelter her daughter, whose silence had by this time begun to offend her. The sight of the clergyman and the other gentleman alarmed her, and she began by maundering out—

‘I am sure, sir, I don’t know nothing. My daughter have never writ one line to me.’

‘He was with her!’ gasped out Lord Northmoor.

‘I am sure, sir, it was none of my doing, no, nor my daughter wouldn’t neither, only the young lady over persuaded her. ’Tis she as was the guilty party, as I’ll always say.’

‘She—who?’

‘Miss Morton—Miss Hida, sir; and my gal wouldn’t never have done it, sir, but for the stories she told, fictious stories they was, I’m sure, that the child wasn’t none of my lady’s, only a brat picked up in foreign parts to put her brother out of his chance.’

‘What are you saying?’ exclaimed Lord Northmoor. ‘My niece never could have said any such thing.’

‘Indeed, but she did, sir, my Lord, and that’s what worked on my daughter, though I always told her not to believe any such nonsense; but then you see, she couldn’t get her passage paid to go out with Rattler, and Miss Hida give her the money if so be she would take off the child to Canada with her.’

‘And where?’ hoarsely asked the father.

‘That I can’t tell, my Lord; Louey have never written, and I knows no more than nothing at all. She’ve not been a dutiful gal to me, as have done everything for her.’

There was no more to be made out of Mrs. Hall, and they went their way.

‘There is no doubt that the little fellow is alive,’ said Mr. Deyncourt.

‘Who can guess what those wretches have done to him?’ said Lord Northmoor under his breath. ‘Not that I am unthankful for the blessed hope,’ he added, uncovering his head, ‘but I am astounded more than I can say, by this—’

‘It must be invention of the woman,’ said Mr. Deyncourt.

‘I hope so,’ was the answer.

‘Could Miss Rollstone have suspected it? She was very unlike what I have seen of her before.’

They separated for breakfast, agreeing to meet afterwards to hunt up the Jones family.

Ida had suffered a good deal all the night and morning as she wondered what her confession might entail on her. Sometimes she told herself that since it would come out in Herbert’s letters on the discovery of the child, it was well to have the honour of the first disclosure, and her brother was certain to keep her part in the matter a secret; but, on the other hand, she did not know how much Louisa might have told her mother, nor whether Mrs. Hall might persist in secrecy—nay, or even Rose. Indeed, she was quite uncertain how much Rose had understood. She could not have kept back guesses, and she did not believe in honour on Rose’s part. So she was nervous on finding that her uncle was gone out.

When he came in to breakfast, he merely made a morning greeting. Afterwards he scarcely spoke, except to answer an occasional remark from her mother. To herself, he neither looked nor spoke, but when Mrs. Morton declared that he looked the better for his morning walk, there was a half smile and light in his eye, and the weight seemed gone from his brow. Mrs. Morton asked what he was going to do.

‘I am going out with Mr. Deyncourt,’ he answered.

And Ida breathed more freely when he was gone.

But she little knew that Mr. Deyncourt had gone to Rose Rollstone in her father’s presence, and told her of Mrs. Hall’s revelations, asking her if this had been the cause of her silence. She had to own how the truth had flashed at once on her and Mr. Morton.

‘It would be so very dreadful for them if it were known,’ she said. ‘He thought if he brought back the boy, his sister’s part need not be known.’

‘Then that was the secret!’ exclaimed Mrs. Rollstone. ‘Well, I’ll not blame you, child, but you might have told us.’

Secrets were safe with the ex-butler, but not quite so much so with his wife, though all three tried to impress on her the need of silence, before Mr. Deyncourt hastened out to rejoin Lord Northmoor. The inquiry took a much longer time than they had expected, for the family wanted did not live in Mr. Deyncourt’s district, and they were misdirected more than once to people who disdained the notion of being connected with the Rattler, if they had ever heard of such a person. At last they did find a sister-in-law, who pronounced George Jones to be a good fellow, so far as she knew. He sent home to his mother regularly, and lately had had out his brother Sam, and a good job too, to have him out of the way, only what must he do but go and marry that there trollopy girl, as was no good.

Yes, George had written to say they had come safe to Toronto, but she did not hear as he said anything about a child. The letter was to his mother, who had taken it into the country when she went to stay with her daughter. This deponent didn’t know the address, and her husband was out with a yacht.

Nothing could be done but to pursue the mother to a village about five miles off, where she was traced out with some difficulty, and persuaded to refer to her son George’s letter, where he mentioned the safe arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Sam, but without a word about their bringing a child with them. This omission seemed to dash all former hopes, so as to show Frank how strong they had been, and besides, there had been more than time for Herbert to have written after reaching Toronto.

However, the one step of knowing George Jones’s address had been gained, and with no more than this, they had to return, intending to see whether Ida had any notion as to what was to be done.

It was evening when Lord Northmoor came in. Mrs. Morton was alone, and as she looked up, was answered by his air of disappointment as he shook his head.

‘Oh, it is so dreadful,’ she exclaimed, ‘it is all over the place! We met Mr. Brady and his sisters, and they cut Ida dead. She is quite broken-hearted, indeed, she is.’

‘Then she has told you all?’

‘She could not help it. Mrs. Rollstone came to ask me if it was true—as a friend, she said, I should say it was more like an enemy, and Mrs. Hall came too, wanting to see Ida, but I saw her instead. The wicked woman to have given in! And they have gone and told every one, and the police will be after my poor child.’

‘No, they would not interfere unless I prosecuted, and that I certainly should not do unless it proved the only means of tracing my child. I came home intending to ask Ida if she gave any directions about him. It seems certain that he was not brought to Toronto.’

‘Indeed! She made sure that he would be there!’ exclaimed Mrs. Morton, much dismayed. ‘Let me go and see. She is so much upset altogether that she declares that she cannot see you this evening.’

Mrs. Morton went, and presently brought word that Ida was horrified at hearing that little Michael was not with the Joneses. She had trusted Louisa to treat him kindly, and only dispose of him to some of those Canadian farmers, who seemed to have an unlimited appetite for adopted children, and the last hope was that this might have been the case, though opportunities could have been few on the way to Toronto.

Ida had cried over the tidings. It must have been worse than she had ever intended that the child should be treated; and the shock was great both to her and to her mother.

Mrs. Morton really seemed quite broken down, both by sorrow and fear for the boy, and by the shame, the dread of the story getting into the papers, and the sense that she could never go on living at Westhaven; and her brother-in-law quite overwhelmed her by saying that he should do all in his power to prevent publicity, and that he entirely exonerated her from all blame in the matter.

‘Ah, Frank dear,’ she said, ‘you are so good, it makes me feel what a sinful woman I am! I don’t mean that I ever gave in for a moment to that nonsense of poor Ida’s which was her only bit of excuse. No one that had ever been a mother could, you know; but I won’t say that I did not grumble at my boy losing his chances.’

‘I don’t wonder!’

‘And—and I never would listen to you and Mary about poor Ida. I let her idle and dress, and read all those novels, and it is out of them she got that monstrous notion. You little know what I have gone through with that girl, Frank, so different from the other two. Oh! if I could only begin over again!’

‘Perhaps,’ said Frank, full of pity, ‘this terrible shock may open her eyes, and by God’s blessing be the beginning of better things.’

‘Oh, Frank, you are a perfect angel ever to bear the sight of us again!’ cried the poor woman, ever violent in her feelings and demonstrations. ‘Hark! What’s that?—I can’t see any one.’

‘Please, ma’am, it’s Miss Rollstone, with a letter for his Lordship.’