the village, to say that Mrs. Grumbit had packed up a bundle of clothes and gone off to Liverpool by the coach.  She took the opportunity of the girl’s absence on some errand to escape; and we should never have known it, had not some boys of the village seen her get into the coach and tell the guard that she was going to make inquiries after Martin.  I instantly set out for Liverpool; but long before I arrived the coach had discharged its passengers, and the coachman, not suspecting that anything was wrong, had taken no notice of her after arriving.  From that day to this I have not ceased to advertise and make all possible inquiries, but without success.”

Martin heard the narrative in silence, and when it was finished he sat a few minutes gazing vacantly before him, like one in a dream.  Then starting up suddenly, he wrung Mr. Jollyboy’s hand, “Good-bye, my dear friend; good-bye.  I shall go to Liverpool.  We shall meet again.”

“Stay, Martin, stay—­”

But Martin had rushed from the room, followed by his faithful friend, and in less than half an hour they were in the village of Ashford.  The coach was to pass in twenty minutes, so, bidding Barney engage two outside seats, he hastened round by the road towards the cottage.  There it stood, quaint, time-worn, and old-fashioned, as when he had last seen it,—­the little garden in which he had so often played,—­the bower in which, on fine weather, Aunt Dorothy used to sit, and the door-step on which the white kitten used to gambol.  But the shutters were closed, and the door was locked, and there was an air of desolation and a deep silence brooding over the place, that sank more poignantly into Martin’s heart than if he had come and found every vestige of the home of his childhood swept away.  It was like the body without the soul.  The flowers, and stones, and well-known forms were there; but she who had given animation to the whole was gone.  Sitting down on the door-step, Martin buried his face in his hands and wept.

He was quickly aroused by the bugle of the approaching coach.  Springing up, he dashed the tears away and hurried towards the high-road.  In a few minutes Barney and he were seated on the top of the coach, and dashing, at the rate of ten miles an hour, along the road to Liverpool.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE OLD GARRET

Days, and weeks, and months, passed away, and Martin had searched every nook and corner of the great sea-port without discovering his old aunt, or obtaining the slightest information regarding her.  At first he and Barney went about the search together, but after a time he sent his old companion forcibly away to visit his own relatives, who dwelt not far from Bilton, at the same time promising that if he had any good news to tell he would immediately write and let him know.

One morning, as Martin was sitting beside the little fire in his lodging, a tap came to the door, and the servant girl told him that a policeman wished to see him.