After breakfast, I sent to Mrs. Martindale a note of inquiry about
Albert. A verbal answer came from the distracted mother, saying that
he was still absent, and that inquiry of the police had failed to
bring any intelligence in regard to him. It was still hoped that he
had gone home with some friend, and would return during the day.

Steadily the snow continued to fall, and as the wind had risen since
morning, it drifted heavily. By ten o'clock it was many inches deep,
and there was no sign of abatement. My suspense and fear were so
oppressive that, in spite of the storm, I dressed myself and went
out to call on my friend. I found her in her chamber, looking very
pale, and calmer than I had hoped to find her. But the calmness I
soon saw to be a congelation of feeling. Fear of the worst had
frozen the wild waves into stillness.

"God knows best," she said, in a voice so sad that its tones ached
through my heart. "We are all in His hands. Pray for me, Agnes, that
I may have strength. If He does not give me strength, I shall die."

I shivered; for both in voice and look were signs of wavering
reason. I tried to comfort her with suggestions as to where Albert
might be. "No doubt," I said, "he went home with a friend, and we
may look any moment for his return. Why should the absence of a few
hours so alarm you?"

There was a stony glare in her eyes as she shook her head silently.
She arose, and walking to the window, stood for several minutes
looking out upon the snow. I watched her closely. She was motionless
as marble. After awhile I saw a quick shudder run through her frame.