"
Dead! Could Fate be cruel enough to deal one so soft and loving such a
blow? And he kept saying to himself: "Courage. Be ready for the worst.
Be ready."
But the figures of Betty and a maid at the open garden gate, in the
breaking darkness, standing there wringing their hands, were too much
for his stoicism. Leaping out, he cried:
"What is it, woman? Quick!"
"Oh, sir! My dear's gone. I left her a moment to get her a cup of tea.
And she's run out in the cold!"
Winton stood for two seconds as if turned to stone. Then, taking Betty
by the shoulder, he asked quietly:
"What happened to HIM?"
Betty could not answer, but the maid said:
"The horse killed him at that linhay, sir, down in 'the wild.' And the
mistress was unconscious till quarter of an hour ago."
"Which way did she go?"
"Out here, sir; the door and the gate was open--can't tell which way."
Through Winton flashed one dreadful thought: The river!
"Turn the cab round! Stay in, Markey! Betty and you, girl, go down to
'the wild,' and search there at once. Yes? What is it?"
The driver was leaning out.
"As we came up the hill, sir, I see a lady or something in a long dark
coat with white on her head, against the hedge."
"Right! Drive down again sharp, and use your eyes."
At such moments, thought is impossible, and a feverish use of every
sense takes its place.
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