hurston, anxiously returning to the spot where the boy
crouched. But the latter remained speechless, trembling, groaning, and
wringing his hands. "Will you speak, idiot? I ask you where is the lady?
Was she not upon the beach? What has frightened you so? Did the horse
run away?" inquired Thurston, hurriedly, in great alarm.

"Oh, sir, marster! I 'spects she's killed!"

"Killed! Oh, my God! she has been thrown from the gig!" cried the young
man, in a piercing voice, as he reeled under this blow. In another
instant he sprang upon the poor boy and shaking him furiously, cried in
a voice of mingled grief, rage and anxiety: "Where was she thrown? Where
is she? How did it happen? Oh! villain! villain! you shall pay for this
with your life! Come and show me the spot! instantly! instantly!"

"Oh, marster, have mercy, sir! 'Twasn't along o' me an' the gig it
happened of! She wur 'parted when I got there!"

"Where? Where? Good heavens, where?" asked Thurston, nearly beside
himself.

"On de beach, sir. Jes' as I got down there, I jumped out'n de gig, and
walked along, and then I couldn't see my way, an' I turned de bull-eye
ob de lantern on de sand afore me, an' oh, marse--"

"Go, on! go on!"

"I seen de lady lying like dead, and a man jump up and run away, and
when I went nigh, I seen her all welkering in her blood, an' dis yer
lying by her," and the boy handed a small poignard to his master.

It was Thurston's own weapon, that he had lost some months previous in
the woods of Luckenough. It was a costly and curious specimen of French
taste and ingenuity. The handle was of pearl, carved in imitation of the
sword-fish, and the blade corresponded to the long pointed beak that
gives the fish that name.

Thurston scarcely noticed that it was his dagger, but pushing the boy
aside, he ran to the stables, saddled a horse with the swiftness of
thought, threw himself into his stirrups, and galloped furiously away
towards the beach.

The rain was now falling in torrents, and the wind driving it in fierce
gusts against his face. The tempest was at its very height, and it
seemed at times impossible to breast the blast--it seemed as though
steed and rider must be overthrown! Yet he lashed and spurred his horse,
and struggled desperately on, thinking with fierce anguish of Marian,
his Marian, lying wounded, helpless, alone and dying, exposed to all the
fury of the winds and waves upon that tempestuous coast, and dreading
with horror