All night long he tossed unable to sleep, as he tried to think what had
happened to her, his mind and heart pained at the thought of something
that boded no good to her.
He again lived over in his mind all that had happened that night upon
the moor, when he saw the man going to meet her after his own meeting
with Mysie.
He was pained and puzzled what to do. Had the stranger any connection
with her disappearance, he asked himself? Should he tell of that? And
yet she had been to her father's house since then, so that it would be
of little value to mention it, he thought.
Perhaps she had run away with the man. That was quite a likely thing to
happen, and if Mysie wanted him no one else had anything to do with it.
Still, she might have told her people, he thought. But perhaps she might
do that later on.
But Mysie and her fate would not be banished from his mind, and he lay
and tumbled and tossed, a terrible anxiety within him, for youth is apt
to pity its own sufferings, and give them a heroic touch under the spell
of unrequited love.
Thus the night passed and morning came, and he had not slept, and he
went to his work debating as to whether he should inform the police or
not about the man he had seen in the company of Mysie.
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