Just as we were leaving the house my mother turned to the footman, who was at the back of her chair: "John," she said, "go and ask Sir Roland if he will come with us." I saw the man's face flush crimson, but he went away and returned in a few minutes, saying that his master was not in.
My mother repeated the words in some wonder.
"Have you seen papa this morning, Laura ?" "No; Emma brought my breakfast to me." "I have not seen him either," she said.

"He has not been to say good-morning to me yet.

John, leave word that when Sir Roland comes in we shall be on the grass plot near the sun-dial!" Why did they all look at us with such scared faces, with such wondering eyes?
And I felt sure that I heard one say to the other: "I have sent for the rector." We went--as unconscious of the doom that hung over us as two children--went my mother's rounds.

She looked at all the flowers, but turned to me once or twice and said, uneasily: "I wonder where Sir Roland is?
It seems strange not to have seen him." We talked about him.

There was nothing she liked more than speaking of him to me.