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At last he said, with an affectation of casualness: "Father been pretty well of late, my dear?" Ida hesitated for a moment. She could not bring herself to tell even Mr. Wordley of her father's painful habit of walking in his sleep. "Yes," she said, "fairly well. Sometimes he is rather restless and irritable as if he were worried. Has he anything to worry him, Mr.
Wordley; "she left suddenly; and I do not know what situation she could find. She is a lady, and unaccustomed to earning her bread in any way." "Then she has met with an accident," said the inspector, with an air of conviction. "God bless my soul, my good man!" exclaimed Mr. Wordley. "What makes you think that?" "Experience, sir," replied the inspector, calmly.
Wordley was in the drawing-room. Mr. and Mrs. Heron exchanged glances, and both of them turned rather pale; for John Heron had a very vivid recollection of Mr. Wordley's frank and candid manner of expressing himself. But he had to be faced, and the pair went down into the drawing-room with a long-suffering expression on their faces. Mr. Wordley, however, appeared to be quite cheerful.
"No yes; sometimes; not much," she replied, vaguely, and regarding him with a dull wonder; for she had never seen this kind of man before. Mr. Wordley poured out a glass of wine, and, in silent indignation, handed it to her; and, unconscious of the heavy scowl with which Mr. John Heron regarded her, she put her lips to it.
She was all of a quiver with delight, with profound gratitude to the Providence which was restoring her to the old house, the wide moors, the brawling streams which she knew now were dearer to her than life itself. Mr. Wordley understood, and was full of sympathy with her mood.
John Heron comforted himself with the reflection that she could have come to no harm or they would have heard of it; and at last it occurred to him, when nearly a fortnight had elapsed, that she might have returned to Herondale, probably to the care of Mr. Wordley, and that he had been too indignant to acquaint the Herons with the fact.
Mr. John Heron was a prominent member of this little sect, and was famous in its small circles for his extreme sanctity and his eloquence as a lay preacher. Mr. Wordley, with much misgiving, had invited this, the only relative he could find, to the funeral, and Ida was now awaiting this gentleman's arrival.
The colour rose to Ida's face, the hand which held the screen shook. "And they they are going to be married soon?" asked she. "I don't know, I suppose not," replied Mr. Wordley, as he bent over his memoranda again; "Lord Highcliffe has disappeared, left England. No one seems to quite know where he has gone.
To his credit, be it stated, that the tears were in his eyes, and for a moment or two he was incapable of speech; indeed, it was Ida who, woman-like, first recovered her self-possession. "Mr. Wordley! Is it really you? How did you know? how did you find me? I am so glad; oh, so glad!"
Wordley would not let her talk until she had made, at any rate, a pretense of eating; but when they had gone into the drawing-room, he drew a chair to the fire for her, and said; "Now, my dear, I am afraid I shall have to talk business. I shall be too busy to come over to-morrow." He laughed.
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