It was almost dark
when I went to the river-bank. I walked for about three miles and a half,
to a gate that opened into the fields by which Mr. Holbrook came across
from Malsham. I knew his wife never went farther than this gate, but used
to wait for him here, if she happened to be the first to reach it. I
hurried along, half running all the way, and calling aloud to Mrs.
Holbrook every now and then with all my might. But there was no answer.
Some men in a boat loaded with hay stopped to ask me what was the matter,
but they could tell me nothing. They were coming from Malsham, and had
seen no one along the bank. I called at Mr. Whitelaw's as I came back,
not with much hope that I should hear anything; but what could I do but
make inquiries anywhere and everywhere? I was almost wild with fright by
this time. They could tell me nothing at Wyncomb Farm. Stephen Whitelaw
was alone in the kitchen smoking his pipe by a great fire. He hadn't been
out all day, he told me, and none of his people had seen or heard
anything out of the common. As to any harm having come to Mrs. Holbrook
by the river-bank, he said he didn't think that was possible, for his men
had been at work in the fields near the river all the afternoon, and must
have seen or heard if there had been anything wrong. There was some kind
of comfort in this, and I left the farm with my mind a little lighter
than it had been when I went in there.
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