To be sure, the servants had heard her in her
room in the early evening, and she had refused the tea which they had
brought her, and told them, through the closed door, that she wanted
nothing more that night. So they left her to herself, supposing her to
be in one of her queer moods, to which they were used to give but scant
heed, and not thinking more about her. The next morning she was missing,
but when she had gone was as dark as where.
The discovery, later in the day, that certain effects, such as her
mother's dressing-case and a few personal necessities of daily use, were
gone too, seemed to dispose effectually of the theory of suicide; though
what remained, a lover, companion of her flight, being wanting? It was a
strange thing altogether, and the country was alive with wild theories
and wild reports. But in a few days a letter from Mr. Dundas to the
rector, and another to Edgar, set the question of self-destruction at
rest, though also they gave loose to other energies of conjecture, for
in both he said, "No harm has come to her, and I am content to let her
remain where she has elected to place herself."
As it was just this _where_ which tormented the folk with the sense of
mystery and made them eager for news, the father's meagre
explanation--which, in point of fact, was no explanation at all--was not
found very satisfactory, and a few hard words were said of Mr. Dundas,
his reserve to the world being taken for the same thing as indifference
to his daughter, and resented as an offence.
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