Biddy stared up at him.

‘It’s my papa,’ she said.

It was the old man’s turn to stare now.

‘Your papa!’ he exclaimed.  He had never dreamt but that Biddy was a Seacove child, tempted out too far by the fine afternoon—­a fisherman’s or boatman’s daughter.  But however curious he was to hear more, he had too much sense to cross-question her just then.

’Get into bed, missie, and get to sleep for a bit, while your things dry.’

Biddy had had her share of weak brandy and water; she had never tasted it before, and it soon sent her to sleep.

Tobias went back to Mr. Vane.

’She’s all right, sir.  I’d no notion as she was your young lady.  Was she awaitin’ for you on the sands, or how?’

Mr. Vane shook his head.

‘I know no more about it than you,’ he said.  But he still looked so white and faint that the lighthouse man and the others gave all their attention to getting him warmed and dried, and at last they got him to look a little better, though he declared he could not go to sleep.

‘You can stay quiet any way,’ said Mr. Mildmay.  But Mr. Vane looked up anxiously.

‘My wife,’ he said.  ’She will be getting frightened, not about me merely, but the child.’

‘I will take the boat back at once and tell her,’ said Mr. Mildmay; ’if Williams can come with me, it won’t take long.  I’ll run up to the Rectory, and then we’ll bring another man out to help to row us all back again.  I’ll bring some wraps too.  You think you’ll be fit to go home in an hour or so?’

‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Vane decidedly.  ‘I could not stay here.’

Mr. Mildmay reached the Rectory to find poor Mrs. Vane in a sad state of fright.  Biddy’s absence had not been discovered for some time, as Rosalys was busy with her mother, and Rough had not come in from school, and everybody, if they thought about her at all, naturally thought she was with some one else.  For a girl of seven or eight should surely be sensible enough to be left to herself for an hour in her own nursery or schoolroom!  But once the hue and cry after her began, it really did seem as if there were cause for alarm.  Every one had some new idea to suggest, ending by Rough, who, as he came riding in on his pony and heard the news, declared she must be hiding out of mischief.

But no—­a very short search dispelled that possibility, and the pony had to be saddled again for Rough to set off as fast as he could to Seacove to inquire if the truant had perhaps followed Celestina home.

‘And your father not in yet either,’ said Mrs. Vane.  ’Oh, Alie, what can be the matter?  Can something have happened to him that Biddy has heard of, and that has made her run off to him—­poor Biddy, she is very fond of papa.  But if she has run away out of mischief, Alie—­oh, could she be such a naughty, naughty girl?’

Mrs. Vane was dreadfully excited.  Alie had hard work to keep back her own tears.