"Dunno. He was called away very sudden, on a journey; mistress knows."

"What?" cried Margaret, shrilly.

"He says the doctor was called away, on a sudden, too, and that he don't know where."

"Heaven help me, what does this mean?" said the poor girl, alighting and confronting the boy like a pale ghost risen out of its grave.

"When did he go--you surely know that?"

"I'll call mistress," said the boy, backing. "Come in, miss, and wait."

In a few moments the doctor's wife joined her, melancholy as usual.

"Oh, Mrs. Gay, it cannot be possible that the doctor has gone away without letting me know?"

"I do not know, my dear young lady, but it is quite certain that he went away somewhere without letting me know. I had precisely fifteen minutes to pack his valise in."

"Don't you know where he has gone?" asked Margaret, the gloom of death descending upon her heart.

"Not exactly; he vouchsafed to mutter 'Wales,' as he ran down the steps, without even a farewell to his boy, far less to his wife, and for what, or what he can mean by it is a mystery to me."

"Did he leave no message for me?"

"I believe he did. I do seem to recall that he said you were to go to Mr. Davenport for explanations. Yes, that was the message."

"Good heaven! And Mr. Davenport left word that I was to come to your husband for explanations! They must have gone away together! And I am left alone to fight for my life and to stem the tide of fraud!" moaned poor Margaret, bursting into tears; "and oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

CHAPTER XXI.

WAS IT A RUSE?

The tide of horror was mounting higher, the waters gurgled to her lips, and her own feeble hands must raise a footway from out of the hissing waves to bear her safely over.

"Where now, miss?" asked Symonds, holding the coach door in his hand.

"Drive to the office of Seamore Emersham, the lawyer," said Margaret.

The coachman mounted to the box, turned the carriage, and rolled down the street again.

"Can it be doubted that my guardians have been purposely sent out of the way, that I may not appeal to them for protection?" she thought. "No, I am not deceived; Mortlake is too talented a plotter to leave a door of safety open for his victim. With what plausible excuse can he have duped the suspicious Davenport, and the humane Gay, that they have both left me in his power? No doubt he expected to keep me a prisoner in the castle until I had either capitulated or fallen a victim to his rage.

But I have escaped him, and am free to seek protection where I please, and since my friends have allowed themselves to be cheated by the villain, I shall lay my case before this other lawyer, Mr. Emersham. I have only to disclose the outrage attempted last night, and my enemy shall be arrested. Oh! you arch fiend! you did not expect this chapter in the story, did you? No, you wretch, you do not know that Margaret Walsingham is posting to sure victory, and your certain destruction!"

Symonds drew up before Mr. Emersham's windows, and the lawyer himself looked out at this unwonted vision of a carriage at his door, and drew back with a smirk of satisfaction!

Margaret had her foot on the step, her hand on the servant's shoulder, and was about to alight, when a triviality stayed her steps, an incident changed her purpose--she sat down again and waited.

Through the drab-colored mire of the village street, a man was trudging, his scarlet coat the one object of interest in the lonely street, an envelope in his outstretched hand shining like a flag of truce--he hurried eagerly toward the Castle Brand carriage--the village postman.

Reaching the pavement before the lawyer's door, he handed Margaret a letter, and touched his hat deferentially.

"Thought I couldn't catch yer in time," panted the old man to Symonds, "and there's 'immediate' on the letter. I saw yer pa.s.s the post office, and knew it would save me the tramp to the Waaste if I could catch up.

Good-day, sir."

He trudged away, and the coachman lounged about the pavement awaiting his mistress' pleasure.

The letter was written in the welcome hand of Dr. Gay, and Margaret devoured its contents with sparkling eyes.

Thus the good old doctor wrote:

"MY DEAR MISS MARGARET:

"I am writing this from----, in Berks, where I have stopped for an hour to dine. I have been very unexpectedly called away to Llandaff, to follow out this extraordinary case of yours, and am anxious to run it through before I agitate you; hence my sudden departure.

"When the worry of starting off was over, and I had time to think over your position, I realized how uncomfortable you would be under the sole charge of Davenport, who is always rather hard upon you, considering that you are in a precarious state of mind, so I thought of a very good plan for you. I require to stay in Wales for a week or so, and will stop at Caerlyon's Hotel, a very nice house, in Llandaff, where you might be quite comfortable. Suppose then, you run off from the colonel and come to me?

"I hope you will be pleased with the idea, for you need a change badly. You can take Purcell with you and come by rail as far as Cirencester, where you take the coach. Depend upon it, I shall look for you every day. Think of it, and start to-morrow.

"Your obedient servant,

"RUFUS GAY."

Margaret laid down the letter with a trembling hand, and put that hand to her forehead wildly. A dark suspicion had a.s.sailed her from the moment she began to read, and now she sat wrapped in perplexity and terror.

"Is this a snare for me also?" thought she. "Is this letter forged?"

She seized it again and pored over it with keen eyes; but its neat, cramped chirography revealed nothing. She had had many notes from Dr.

Gay in precisely these finical characters.

The postmarks were all there upon the envelope, the sentences in the letter echoed the doctor's every day speech. The whole missive seemed too _bona fide_ to doubt for a moment.

And yet she doubted and hesitated, and longing frantically to obey the welcome request which was couched in the familiar language of her old friend, she thrust the hope from her with suspicion and loathing.

Torn between two opinions she gazed with stony eyes into vacancy; while the sharp young lawyer eyed her inquisitively from his office window, and Symonds lounging about the pavement, ventured to whistle a few dreary notes to remind his mistress of his existence, and beat his arms across his breast, to suggest to her the bitterness of the wintry wind.

She looked at him at last, with a resolute face, and commanded him to see whether Mr. Emersham was alone.

"I have nothing to hope for but death, if I stay here," mused Margaret, almost calmly, "and I can meet no worse if I obey this letter, and go away. I may as well have the benefit of the doubt, and go to Llandaff, since there is a possibility that this Letter is not forged. Yes, I can fear no worse fate than death, and that menaces me here every moment of my guardians' absence. I will obey the letter and go."

A dingy office boy, answering Symonds' knock, announced that Mr.

Emersham was entirely disengaged, and Margaret alighted, and entered the office.

The lawyer hastened to salute her, and had her seated, and the door shut with much alacrity. She bestowed upon him one piercing glance; the shallow eyes answered her appeal for wise counsel in the negative; the _blase_ mouth answered her hopes for protection also in the negative.

The fast young lawyer was clearly not the man to whom she could trust her secret or in whom she could place confidence.

The fast young lawyer's smartly furnished office and diamond ring, spoke of a thriving practice; but his old office-coat, his idle hands clasped behind him, his reckless swagger and his insincere face spoke more reliable of shams, and shifts, and unscrupulous quirks to fill the empty purse. Clearly, Mr. Seamore Emersham was a man to be bought with money; and Roland Mortlake was the man to buy him; no disclosures must be made by Margaret Walsingham before him.