"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
young man disappear over the brow of the hill. What Mr. Black
thought was not so apparent. He had no wish to discourage Reuther
whose feeling was one of relief as her first word showed.
"Oliver is gone. We shall not have to hurry now and perhaps if I
had a few minutes in which to rest---"
She was on the verge of fainting again.
And then Alanson Black showed of what stuff he was made. In ten
minutes he had bustled about the half-deserted building, and with
the aid of the dazed and uncomprehending deaf-mute, managed to
prepare a cup of hot tea and a plate of steaming eggs for the
weary girl.
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