eavy one,' said Mr Haredale,
looking restlessly towards the door: 'and this is not a time to comfort
you. If it were, I am in no condition to do so. Before I leave you, tell
me one thing, and try to tell me plainly, I implore you. Have you seen,
or heard of Emma?'

'No!' said Mr Willet.

'Nor any one but these bloodhounds?'

'No!'

'They rode away, I trust in Heaven, before these dreadful scenes began,'
said Mr Haredale, who, between his agitation, his eagerness to mount
his horse again, and the dexterity with which the cords were tied, had
scarcely yet undone one knot. 'A knife, Daisy!'

'You didn't,' said John, looking about, as though he had lost his
pocket-handkerchief, or some such slight article--'either of you
gentlemen--see a--a coffin anywheres, did you?'

'Willet!' cried Mr Haredale. Solomon dropped the knife, and instantly
becoming limp from head to foot, exclaimed 'Good gracious!'

'--Because,' said John, not at all regarding them, 'a dead man called a
little time ago, on his way yonder. I could have told you what name was
on the plate, if he had brought his coffin with him, and left it behind.
If he didn't, it don't signify.'

His landlord, who had listened to these words with breathless attention,
started that moment to his feet; and, without a word, drew Solomon
Daisy to the door, mounted his horse, took him up behind again, and flew
rather than galloped towards the pile of ruins, which that day's sun
had shone upon, a stately house. Mr Willet stared after them, listened,
looked down upon himself to make quite sure that he was still unbound,
and, without any manifestation of impatience, disappointment, or
surprise, gently relapsed into the condition from which he had so
imperfectly recovered.

Mr Haredale tied his horse to the trunk of a tree, and grasping his
companion's arm, stole softly along the footpath, and into what had
been the garden of his house. He stopped for an instant to look upon its
smoking walls, and at the stars that shone through roof and floor upon
the heap of crumbling ashes. Solomon glanced timidly in his face, but
his lips were tightly pressed together, a resolute and stern expression
sat upon his brow, and not a tear, a look, or gesture indicating grief,
escaped him.

He drew his sword; felt for a moment in his breast, as though he carried
other arms about him; then grasping Solomon by the wrist again, went
with a cautious step all round the house. He looked into every