An oar had drifted up with the morning tide, and had been recognised
as belonging to the boat; but such a gale was blowing that it was
impossible to put out to sea or make any search round the coast.
Words could hardly describe the distress of Mr. Flight or of his
ladies at not having better looked after the young girl; Sister Beata
for never having thoroughly attended to the matter; and Sister Mena
for having accepted confidences which, if she had only guessed it,
told her more than there really was to be known. Both these two were
inclined to the elopement idea, partly because it was the least
shocking, and partly because they had looked at Vera's grievances
through her own spectacles, and partly from their unlimited notions
of young men's wickedness. Their vicar was not of the same opinion,
knowing Hubert better, and besides having found his work, his orders
to his subordinates, and the belongings at the lodgings in a state
that showed that whatever he had done had been unpremeditated.
Sending off notes to stop the garden party was a sort of occupation,
broken by many signs, much listening, and much sorrowful discussion,
not quite vain, since it made Paulina more one with Magdalen than
ever before. Poor old Mr. Delrio arrived in the afternoon, a thin,
grey-haired and bearded old man, who could only make it too certain
that Paula's theory of the innocent flight to Filsted was impossible.
Moreover, he was as certain as a father could be, intimate with, and
therefore confident of, his eldest son, that though Hubert might
indulge in a little lively flirtation, it could never be otherwise
than perfectly harmless. In the terrible suspense and restlessness,
he went vibrating about in the torrents of moorland rain between Rock
Quay and the Goyle, on the watch for telegrams from the office in
London or his wife at home, or for the discovery of anything from the
sea, or searching in his son's lodgings, where nothing was found that
did not show him to have been a pure-hearted young man, devoted to