when she is partaking of refreshment."

Then the poor mad creature turned her back, and I withdrew from the sad
scene. A day or two afterwards the post carried misfortune from me to
Harley Street. The wily baronet had fooled me, and had substituted a
terrible letter for that which he had persuaded me to enclose to his
nephew.

"Return hither, sir, at once," he had written. "It is far worse than
idle to attempt to cross my will. I give you twenty-four hours to arrive
after the receipt of this letter. I shall consider your absence to be
equivalent to a contumacious refusal. However well it may seem with you,
it will not be well. Whenever you think yourself safest, you will be
most in danger. There is, indeed, but one place of safety for you; come
you home."

Very soon afterwards, and before we knew of this villainy, word reached
us that the baronet was lost, and could not be found. He had started on
his usual nocturnal rounds in the preserves, and nobody had seen him
since midnight. Old Grimjaw, the dog, had been found on the doorstep,
nigh frozen to death.

The news spread like wild-fire through Fairburn village. I myself joined
the searchers, but soon separated from them, and passing the home
spinney, near by which was the famous Wolsey oak, a tree of great age. I
heard a sound that set my heart beating, and fluttering like the wings
of a prisoned bird against its cage. Was it a strangled cry for "Help!"
repeated once, twice, thrice, or was it the cold wind clanging and
grinding the naked branches of the spinney? But nought living was to be
seen; a bright wintry sun completely penetrated the leafless woodland.
At last I came upon the warm but lifeless body of Grimjaw lying on the
grass, and I hurried madly from the accursed place to where the men were
dragging the lake.

No clue was found, and my tutor began to fear that the gypsies had made
away with their enemy. Word came that they had passed through the
turnpike with a covered cart, and we rode out to interview them. The old
woman met us, and conducted us to the vehicle, when we found Sinnamenta,
Lady Heath, weaving rushes into crowns.

"My little sister is not beaten now," said the beldam. "May God's curse
have found Sir Massingberd! I would that I had his fleshless bones to
show you. Where he may be we know not; we only hope that in some hateful
spot he may be suffering unimagined pains!"

By the next post I received bitter news from Harley Street. A copy