These were Reuther's first words, as, coming to herself, she
perceived Mr. Black bending helplessly over her.

The answer was brief, almost indifferent. Alanson Black was
cursing himself for allowing her to come to this house alone.

"He was here a moment ago. When he saw you begin to give signs of
life, he slid out. How do you feel, my--my dear? What will your
mother say?"

"But Oliver?" She was on her feet now; she had been lying on some
sort of couch. "He must--Oh, I remember now. Mr. Black, we must
go. I have given him his father's letter."

"We are not going till you have something to eat. Not a word.
I'll--" Why did his eye wander to the nearest window, and his
words trail away into silence?

Reuther turned about to see. Oliver was in front, conversing
earnestly with Mr. Sloan. As they looked, he dashed back into the
rear of the house, and they heard his voice rise once or twice in
some ineffectual commands to his deaf servant, then there came a
clatter and a rush from the direction of the stable, and they saw
him flash by on a gaunt but fiery horse, and take with long bounds
the road up which they had just laboured. He had stopped to equip
himself in some measure for this ride, but not the horse, which
was without saddle or any sort of bridle but a halter strung about
his neck.

This was flight; or so it appeared to Mr. Sloan, as he watched the