gone--when, or whither nobody knew: no one had missed him. Her first
fear was the river, but her conscience enlightened her, and her
shame could not prevent her from seeking him at the curate's. In her
haste she passed him where he lay.

Shown into the curate's study, she gave a hurried glance around, and
her anxiety became terror again.

"Oh! Mr. Wingfold," she cried, "where is Leopold?"

"I have not seen him," replied the curate, turning pale.

"Then he has thrown himself in the river!" cried Helen, and sank on
a chair.

The curate caught up his hat.

"You wait here," he said. "I will go and look for him."

But Helen rose, and, without another word, they set off together,
and again entered the churchyard. As they hurried across it, the
curate caught sight of something on the ground, and, springing
forward, found Leopold.

"He is dead!" cried Helen, in an agony, when she saw him stop and
stoop.

He looked dead indeed; but what appalled her the most reassured
Wingfold a little: blood had flowed freely from a cut on his
eyebrow.