But when she saw
this, a gentle sorrow came over her countenance, and she said,
'Dearest John! don't cry; come with me, and we'll find him,' almost
as cheerfully as if she knew where he was. And she took my
father's great hand in her little soft one, and led him along, the
tears dropping as he walked on that same unceasing, weary walk,
from room to room, through house and garden.
"Oh, how I wished for Deborah! I had no time for crying, for now
all seemed to depend on me. I wrote for Deborah to come home. I
sent a message privately to that same Mr Holbrook's house--poor Mr
Holbrook;--you know who I mean. I don't mean I sent a message to
him, but I sent one that I could trust to know if Peter was at his
house. For at one time Mr Holbrook was an occasional visitor at
the rectory--you know he was Miss Pole's cousin--and he had been
very kind to Peter, and taught him how to fish--he was very kind to
everybody, and I thought Peter might have gone off there. But Mr
Holbrook was from home, and Peter had never been seen. It was
night now; but the doors were all wide open, and my father and
mother walked on and on; it was more than an hour since he had
joined her, and I don't believe they had ever spoken all that time.
I was getting the parlour fire lighted, and one of the servants was
preparing tea, for I wanted them to have something to eat and drink
and warm them, when old Clare asked to speak to me.
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