Eva did not eat any thing, but leaned on her hands. Suddenly she turned toward me, and bursting into sobs, said, “Ah, doctor! you also are disturbed, I see it.” “No, madame, no, indeed,” I replied, speaking at random; “why should I be uneasy? He has, no doubt, stopped to dinner with the notary. The country is safe, and beside, no one knows that he has money with him.” One of my presentiments had thus unconsciously escaped me. I knew that a company of strange reapers had passed through the village that very morning, on their way to a neighboring district. Eva gave a shriek. “Robbers! there are robbers, then. Oh! I never thought of that danger.” “But, madame, my only mention of them was to tell you there were none.” “Oh! you would never have thought of it, doctor, had you not supposed this misfortune possible. William! my William! why did you leave me!” and she wept. I stood there, vexed at my blunder, hesitating before every thought, stammering out some disconnected words, and feeling that to cap my misfortune, my eyes were filling with tears. At last a thought struck me. “Madame Meredith,” said I, “I cannot see you thus, and stay by your side without a consoling word. I will go in quest of your husband; I will, at all risks, take one of the roads leading through the woods; I will search every where, will call him by name, and go, if necessary, as far as the town itself.” “Oh, thanks! thanks, my friend!” Eva cried; “take with you the gardener and the servant, search in every direction.” We quickly returned to the parlor, and Eva rung the bell loudly several times. All the residents of the little house hurried into the room. “Follow Dr. Barnabé,” said Madame Meredith. Just then, the gallop of a horse was distinctly heard on the gravel walks. Eva uttered a cry of happiness that reached every heart. I can never forget the divine expression of joy which instantly lit that face, still bedewed with tears. We both rushed to the steps. The moon at this moment broke forth from the clouds, and shone full on a horse, covered with foam, and riderless, whose bridle dragged the ground, whilst the empty stirrups beat against his dusty sides. Another cry this time, a dreadful one, burst from Eva’s lips. She then turned toward me, her eyes fixed, her lips parted, and her arms dropping listless by her side. “My friends,” I said, to the frightened domestics, “light torches, and follow me. Madame, we will return soon, and, I trust, with your husband, who may be slightly hurt—a stumble, perhaps; do not despond, we will soon return.” “I will follow you,” murmured Eva Meredith, in a choking voice. I told her that it was impossible. “We must go swiftly,” I said, “perhaps a great distance; and in the state you are in, it would be risking your own life as well as your child’s.” “I will follow you,” she replied.