There were a few books, which Gilbert
remembered as Marian's literary treasures, neatly arranged on a rickety
old chiffonier by the fire-place, and the desk and work-basket which he
had seen on his previous visit.
He was half bewildered by what the woman had told him, and his heart
beat tumultuously as he stood by the empty hearth, waiting for Ellen
Carley's coming. It seemed to him as if the girl never would come. The
ticking of an old eight-day clock in the hall had a ghastly sound in the
dead silence of the house, and an industrious mouse made itself
distinctly heard behind the wainscot.
At last a light rapid footstep came tripping across the hall, and Ellen
Carley entered the room. She was looking paler than when Gilbert had seen
her last, and the bright face was very grave.
"For heaven's sake tell me what this means, Miss Carley," Gilbert began
eagerly. "Your servant tells me that Mrs. Holbrook has left you--in some
mysterious way, I imagine, from what the woman said."
"O, sir, I am so glad you have come here; I should have written to you if
I had known where to address a letter. Yes, sir, she has gone--that dear
sweet young creature--and I fear some harm has come to her."
The girl burst into tears, and for some minutes could say no more.
"Pray, pray be calm," Gilbert said gently, "and tell me all you can about
this business.
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