“It must have been a dream, Oliver,” said Harry Maylie.
“Oh no, indeed, sir,” replied Oliver, shuddering at the very recollection of the old wretch’s countenance; “I saw him too plainly for that. I saw them both, as plainly as I see you now.”
“Who was the other?” inquired Harry and Mr. Losberne, together.
“The very same man I told you of, who came so suddenly upon me at the inn,” said Oliver. “We had our eyes fixed full upon each other; and I could swear to him.”
“They took this way?” demanded Harry: “are you sure?”
“As I am that the men were at the window,” replied Oliver, pointing down, as he spoke, to the hedge which divided the cottage-garden from the meadow. “The tall man leaped over, just there; and the Jew, running a few paces to the right, crept through that gap.”
The two gentlemen watched Oliver’s earnest face, as he spoke, and looking from him to each other, seemed to feel satisfied of the accuracy of what he said. Still, in no direction were there any appearances of the trampling of men in hurried flight. The grass was long; but it was trodden down nowhere, save where their own feet had crushed it. The sides and brinks of the ditches were of damp clay; but in no one place could they discern the print of men’s shoes, or the slightest mark which would indicate that any feet had pressed the ground for hours before.
“This is strange!” said Harry.
“Strange?” echoed the doctor. “Blathers and Duff, themselves, could make nothing of it.”
Notwithstanding the evidently useless nature of their search, they did not desist until the coming on of night rendered its further prosecution hopeless; and even then, they gave up with reluctance. Giles was despatched to the different alehouses in the village, furnished with the best description Oliver could give of the appearance and dress of the strangers. Of these, the Jew was, at all events, sufficiently remarkable to be remembered, supposing he had been seen drinking, or loitering about; but Giles returned without any intelligence, calculated to dispel or lessen the mystery.
On the next day, fresh search was made, and the inquiries renewed; but with no better success. On the day following, Oliver and Mr. Maylie repaired to the market-town, in the hope of seeing or hearing something of the men there; but this effort was equally fruitless. After a few days, the affair began to be forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder, having no fresh food to support it, dies away of itself.
Meanwhile, Rose was rapidly recovering. She had left her room: was able to go out; and mixing once more with the family, carried joy into the hearts of all.
But, although this happy change had a visible effect on the little circle; and although cheerful voices and merry laughter were once more heard in the cottage; there was at times, an unwonted restraint upon some there: even upon Rose herself: which Oliver could not fail to remark. Mrs. Maylie and her son were often closeted together for a long time; and more than once Rose appeared with traces of tears upon her face. After Mr. Losberne had fixed a day for his departure to Chertsey, these symptoms increased; and it became evident that something was in progress which affected the peace of the young lady, and of somebody else besides.
At length, one morning, when Rose was alone in the breakfast-parlour, Harry Maylie entered; and, with some hesitation, begged permission to speak with her for a few moments.
“A few—a very few—will suffice, Rose,” said the young man, drawing his chair towards her. “What I shall have to say, has already presented itself to your mind; the most cherished hopes of my heart are not unknown to you, though from my lips you have not heard them stated.”
Rose had been very pale from the moment of his entrance; but that might have been the effect of her recent illness. She merely bowed; and bending over some plants that stood near, waited in silence for him to proceed.
“I—I—ought to have left here, before,” said Harry.
“You should, indeed,” replied Rose. “Forgive me for saying so, but I wish you had.”