r her night things nor
her day clothing were there. Several other articles appeared to have
been removed from the room. Becky had an observant eye, and quickly
discovered this; otherwise she might have supposed that she had merely
gone out unobserved to take a morning walk. As to her having gone away
of her own accord, without saying anything to her father and mother, or
allowing even a suspicion that any plan was running in her head, that
was so unlike dear little, loving, tender-hearted Miss Margery that
Becky dismissed the notion as altogether improbable; but then again, how
could anybody have got into the house to carry her off? Poor Becky,
with grief and perplexity, would have sat down on the bed and cried her
eyes out, but she felt conscious that the so doing would not assist in
discovering what had become of Margery; so at length, mustering courage
for announcing what she would, she told Tom, rather have cut out her
tongue than have had to do, she slowly returned to the breakfast-room.
Her prolonged absence had produced some anxiety, and she met Mrs Askew
coming to see what was the matter. Becky's face alarmed her.

"Is my child ill? is she dead? oh! speak--speak--tell me the worst!" she
exclaimed.

"Oh! don't take on so, marm, Miss Margery isn't ill, and she isn't dead,
that I know on; but, oh dear! marm, she isn't there," she answered,
bursting into tears. It is needless further to describe the sorrow and
consternation which everybody in the house felt when this fact became
known, and very soon it was ascertained to be a fact, for, hunting high
and hunting low, not a trace of dear little Margery could be discovered.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE SEARCH FOR MARGERY--THE SLIPPER--THE VAULT--TOM AND CHARLEY
DISAPPEAR.

Captain Askew was a man of action, and, while the search for Margery was
being carried on in the Tower, he hurried down to the hamlet, to
ascertain if she had been seen by any one there, or if any one could
give him any clue by which to trace her. He went, in the first place,
to Dick Herring's cottage, for though of late Dick had always met him
with a sulky, surly expression on his countenance, they were once good
friends, and he thought that under the present circumstances the heart
of even the rough smuggler would be softened; but Dick was away, and
Susan, his wife, said that she did not know when he would return--she
never did know. Their daughter Polly, whom he met bringing in a bucket