CHAPTER XX. MADAME’S SYMPATHY. When Madame saw the white covers of the returning waggons creeping across the prairie she set out to meet Ezra in order to deliver her message to him. Her manner was as quiet and collected as ever, her white smooth brow was perfectly unruffled, and her blue eyes were as gentle in expression as her friends had ever known them to be. Was her heart in reality as calm as her outward appearance would have led the casual observer to conclude? No one ever knew what was passing in Madame’s mind. Still she must have known that she was about to stab to the heart a man upon whose friendship she had seemed to set great value. Having reached the slope over Weddell’s Gully, whence she could see that blackened field where she had saved Ezra on the night of the fire, she sat down and waited until his waggon came up. “Ah, Madame!” said he cheerily, as he pulled up. “How glad I am to get home again! It has seemed such a long four days to me.” “And to us also,” answered Madame. “All well, I hope,” said Ezra reaching down his hand in order to help her up to the seat beside himself. “We have had misfortunes at Perfection City. The brown mare has been stolen.” “What! Queen Katharine gone, and our most valuable animal too! That is indeed a loss!” “Just wait a few minutes,” said she, putting her hand on his to stop him from giving the signal to the horses to start on again. “I have some things to talk about, Ezra. Do you remember that night, not long ago in reality, though it seems an age, when I found you lying here on the edge of the fire?” “Is it likely I could ever forget that or who it was came to my rescue?” said Ezra warmly. “I was thinking as you drove up that perhaps it would have been a kinder act to have left you to die in your unconsciousness.” “What’s the matter?” said Ezra, greatly startled by her words. “I have bad news,” said Madame. “Is it Olive?” asked Ezra, hoarsely. “Yes, it is Olive.” “Is she ill?” “Worse than that.” “My God, is my wife dead?” cried Ezra in a stifled whisper. “Worse than that.” “There can’t be worse,” said Ezra. “Yes, there can. She has left you and gone off with Cotterell.” Ezra threw up his arms and fell backwards. Madame thought for a moment or two that he was dying, for an awful blue-purple look passed over his face as if his heart had stopped beating. He recovered himself and sat up, turned ghastly white, and moved his lips. He was trying to speak, but no sound came. At length he gasped, “Olive, Olive, where is she?” “We don’t know. Cotterell took the brown mare, the men turned out and caught him. Olive disappeared, no one knew where, night before last, taking our last horse. There was a sort of lynch-law trial at Union Mills, she appeared in the middle of the proceedings and said she gave him the horse, and then they went off together and have not since been heard of.”