A great horror wrapt me round. I felt a murderess. She might have failed to spring to the bank of the hole for lack of the hand she had asked me to reach out! Or her habit might have been entangled, so that she fell short, and went to the bottom--to be found, one day, hardly changed, by the side of her peat-embalmed steed!--no ill fitting fate for her, but a ghastly thing to have a hand in! She might, however, be on her way to Rising on foot! I told two of the men to mount a pair of the horses, and go with me on the chance of rendering her assistance. We took the way to Rising, and had gone about two miles, when we saw her, through the starlight, walking steadily along the track. I rode up to her, and offered her one of the cart-horses: I would not have trusted my Zoe with her any more than with an American lion that lives upon horses. She declined the proffer with quiet scorn. I offered her one or both men to see her home, but the way in which she refused their service, made them glad they had not to go with her. We had no choice, therefore turned and left her to get home as she might. Not until we were on the way back, did it occur to me that I had not asked Martha whether she knew anything about my uncle's departure. She was never one to volunteer news, and, besides, would naturally think me in his confidence! I found she knew nothing of our expedition, as no one had gone into the house--had only heard the horses and voices, and wondered. I was able to tell her what had happened; but the moment I began to question her as to any knowledge of my uncle's intentions, my strength gave way, and I burst into tears. “Don't be silly, Belorba!” cried Martha, almost severely. “You an engaged young lady, and tied so to your uncle's apron-strings that you cry the minute he's out of your sight! You didn't cry when Mr. Day left you!” “No,” I answered; “he was going only for a day or two!” “And for how many is your uncle gone?” “That is what I want to know. He means to be away a long time, I fear.” “Then it's nothing but your fancy sets you crying!--But I'll just see!” she returned. “I shall know by the money he left for the house-keeping! Only I won't budge till I see you eat.” Faint for want of food, I had no appetite. But I began at once to eat, and she left me to fetch the money he had given her as he went. She came back with a pocket-book, opened it, and looked into it. Then she looked at me. Her expression was of unmistakable dismay. I took the pocket-book from her hand: it was full of notes! I learned afterward, that it was his habit to have money in the house, in readiness for some possible sudden need of it. CHAPTER XXVIII. ANOTHER VISION.