"Master Will has not been back, sir," said the servant, when Mr Willows
inquired towards evening as to the whereabouts of his son.
"But," he said to himself, "he was going to fetch that artist. Oh, he
will be all right."
Yet as evening wore on the mill-owner began to feel anxious, and his
anxiety caused him to take his hat and stick and walk up to the
Vicarage.
"Will?" said the Vicar, "No. Isn't he at the mill?"
"No--nor Josh."
"Ah!" said the Vicar. "I have not seen either of them all day."
"Humph! They ought to be able to take care of themselves by this time.
But I shall go on to Drinkwater's cottage and inquire."
"I'll come with you," said the Vicar, eagerly, and he took his hat off
its peg in the square-shaped wainscotted hall. "Our two lads," he said,
as they walked quickly along the road to the cottage, "are so much
together that I always feel that when Josh is out he is sure to be at
the mill. That is why I never feel particularly surprised when he does
not come back to meals."
"Just so; but they are so ready to be up to mischief that I am beginning
to be afraid. Ah! at last," continued Mr Willows, with a sigh, as they
reached the cottage, where lights shone already through the
white-curtained windows.
He passed through the nicely kept garden and knocked at the door, which
was opened by Mrs Drinkwater, who curtseyed when she saw who her
visitors were.
"Have you seen my son, Mrs Drinkwater?" asked Mr Willows. "Did he
come here to-day to see Mr Manners?"
"Yes, sir; this morning," said the woman, making way for the two
visitors to enter the neatly furnished sitting-room, where supper was on
the way.
"Oh! this morning? But I am disturbing you at supper. Evening, James,"
he said, as he and his companion entered the room, to see Drinkwater,
who was just finishing his meal.
"Good-evening, sir. Disturbing me? No matter, master," said the man,
rising and standing facing the newcomers, with one hand on the table.
"So Master Will was here this morning, wife?"
"Yes, yes," cried the woman; "as I say. He and Mr Josh came down
together. They were looking for Mr Manners then, and seemed
disappointed-like that he was out."
"Of course," said the mill-owner; "of course. They would be. They
wanted the artist to come to the mill. Well, well! And afterwards what
happened?"
"Well, sir, Mr Manners had gone, and that's all I know, sir. The two
young gentlemen went away together."
"They went to look for him, naturally. But where had he gone?"
"He was going to the Tor, sir. He went away early, with his canvas and
things, to paint a picture."
"You hear, Carlile? Something must have happened, or they would have
been back by now. We must go. Look here, Drinkwater, you will come
with us?"
"Yes, master," said the man, with surly readiness.
"It may be some accident," continued Mr Willows.
"Oh, I pray not, sir," said the woman. "Those two dear lads, and Mr
Manners, who is always so cheerful!"
"Come then," cried Mr Willows. "What are you looking for?"
"Rope, sir," said the man, gruffly. "It may be useful--and a lantern.
We shall want it at least;" and as he spoke the words he pulled out of
the chest over which he had been stooping a coil of hempen rope. He
then took a little lantern from a ledge and lit it. "Now I am ready,
master."
"You are an excellent fellow, Drinkwater," said the mill-owner, clapping
his hand on the other's shoulder, as they stepped out.
"Nay, nay, master," said the man. "I have the bad fits on me sometimes,
and bad they are."
"Bad fits?" said Mr Willows, in a puzzled way. "What do you mean?"
The man nodded.
"Yes," he said, "yes. That's what they are. I can't help them,
master."
"Oh," said the mill-owner; "you must try."
The bright light from the cottage door, at which the woman stood
watching them, streamed out and lit up their path for a few steps. Then
they were in the pitch darkness, and in danger of completely losing
their way, for it was rough broken country that lay between the little
settlement and the Tor. In that district villages were few and far
between, and beyond Beldale there was uncultivated land for many miles.
"They would be sure to come back this way, wouldn't they?" asked Mr
Willows. "Don't you think so, James?"
"Pretty nigh certain, master," was the response, and the man held the
lantern aloft and glanced round. "It's a rough enough way and no
mistake, if you can call it a way; but it's the only one I knows of.
But don't you fret, sir. Master Will can take care of himself, and as
for Mr Manners, he's big enough, while Master Josh is a handy one too,
They are sure to be all right, sir, take my word for it."
"Yes," said Mr Willows; "but there are many dangerous places there out
in the wilds, and boys are over-venturesome."
"Humph! The swamp? Ay," said the man, thoughtfully. "Yes, to be sure.
But we shall find them, never fear."
The Great Tor looked quite near at times, in the daylight, but that was
merely base deception on the part of the atmosphere, for it was quite a
long way, while now, at night, it was not to be seen at all. It was on
the tip of John Willows' tongue several times to ask Drinkwater if he
were sure, but he reflected what would be the use? For the man was
plodding steadily on, and the tiny rays of his lantern fell on the rough
grass and stones. Evidently he knew quite well what he was about, for
there was a certainty in his movements--never any hesitation.
"Suppose," said the Vicar, "that they have gone back home another way."
"Aren't no use supposing, sir. I don't think as they have," said the
man, quietly. "This 'ere's the only safe way through the bog."
"Very well," said Mr Willows, shortly. "We must just press on. I wish
Mr Manners wouldn't lead our lads so far afield."
"Yet, if they followed him--" said the Vicar.
"Ah, yes, to be sure. He strikes one as being a good reliable man.
Ah!" And he gave a snatch at the Vicar's arm. "I was nearly down that
time. Terribly rough."
"Terribly," was the reply. "Drinkwater!"
"Yes, sir."
"Let us keep one each side of you. It is so dark, and the lantern will
help us better that way."