her. Miss Sarti may be only
walking in the garden. She was terribly excited by what she saw
yesterday, and perhaps was unable to lie down from restlessness. Just go
quietly through the empty rooms, and see whether she is in the house. I
will go and look for her in the grounds.'

He went down, and, to avoid giving any alarm in the house, walked at once
towards the Mosslands in search of Mr. Bates, whom he met returning from
his breakfast. To the gardener he confided his fear about Caterina,
assigning as a reason for this fear the probability that the shock she
had undergone yesterday had unhinged her mind, and begging him to send
men in search of her through the gardens and park, and inquire if she had
been seen at the lodges; and if she were not found or heard of in this
way, to lose no time in dragging the waters round the Manor.

'God forbid it should be so, Bates, but we shall be the easier for having
searched everywhere.'

'Troost to mae, troost to mae, Mr. Gilfil. Eh! but I'd ha' worked for
day-wage all the rest o' my life, rether than anythin' should ha'
happened to her.'

The good gardener, in deep distress, strode away to the stables that he
might send the grooms on horseback through the park.

Mr. Gilfil's next thought was to search the Rookery: she might be
haunting the scene of Captain Wybrow's death. He went hastily over every
mound, looked round every large tree, and followed every winding of the
walks. In reality he had little hope of finding her there; but the bare
possibility fenced off for a time the fatal conviction that Caterina's
body would be found in the water. When the Rookery had been searched in
vain, he walked fast to the border of the little stream that bounded one
side of the grounds. The stream was almost everywhere hidden among trees,
and there was one place where it was broader and deeper than
elsewhere--she would be more likely to come to that spot than to the
pool. He hurried along with strained eyes, his imagination continually
creating what he dreaded to see.

There is something white behind that overhanging bough. His knees tremble
under him. He seems to see part of her dress caught on a branch, and her
dear dead face upturned. O God, give strength to thy creature, on whom
thou hast laid this great agony! He is nearly up to the bough, and the
white object is moving. It is a waterfowl, that spreads its wings and
flies away screaming. He hardly knows whether it is a relief or a
d