ht, and he would not let Markey,
whose chest was not strong, go outside to act as guide. Twice that
silent one, impelled by feelings too strong even for his respectful
taciturnity, had spoken.

"That'll be bad for Miss Gyp, sir."

"Bad, yes--terrible."

And later:

"D'you think it means he's dead, sir?"

Winton answered sombrely:

"God knows, Markey! We must hope for the best."

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. But of thought there was no need, for the gardens
of villas and the inn blocked the river at all but one spot. Winton
stopped the car where the narrow lane branched down to the bank, and
jumping out, ran. By instinct he ran silently on the grass edge, and
Markey, imitating, ran behind. When he came in sight of a black shape
lying on the bank, he suffered a moment of intense agony, for he thought
it was just a dark garment thrown away. Then he saw it move, and,
holding up his hand for Markey to stand still, walked on alone,
tiptoeing in the grass, his heart swelling with a sort of rapture.
Stealthily moving round between that prostrate figure and the water, he
knelt down and said, as best he could,