The news of Rosanna’s disappearance¹ had, as it appeared, spread among the out-of-door servants. They too had made their inquiries²; and they had just laid hands on a quick little imp³, nicknamed “Duffy”—who was occasionally employed in weeding the garden, and who had seen Rosanna Spearman as lately as half-an-hour since. Duffy was certain that the girl had passed him in the fir-plantation, not walking, but running, in the direction of the sea-shore.

“Does this boy know the coast hereabouts?” asked Sergeant⁴ Cuff⁵.

“He has been born and bred on the coast,” I answered.

“Duffy!” says the Sergeant, “do you want to earn a shilling? If you do, come along with me. Keep the pony-chaise ready, Mr. Betteredge, till I come back.”

He started for the Shivering Sand, at a rate that my legs (though well enough preserved for my time of life) had no hope of matching. Little Duffy, as the way is with the young savages⁶ in our parts when they are in high spirits, gave a howl, and trotted⁷ off at the Sergeant’s heels.

Here again, I find it impossible to give anything like a clear account of the state of my mind in the interval⁸ after Sergeant Cuff had left us. A curious and stupefying restlessness got possession of me. I did a dozen different needless things in and out of the house, not one of which I can now remember. I don’t even know how long it was after the Sergeant had gone to the sands, when Duffy came running back with a message for me. Sergeant Cuff had given the boy a leaf torn out of his pocket-book, on which was written in pencil, “Send me one of Rosanna Spearman’s boots, and be quick about it.”

I despatched the first woman-servant I could find to Rosanna’s room; and I sent the boy back to say that I myself would follow him with the boot.

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