"Is he near comfort.'" said Aunt Ursul who had heard him coming and now stepped to the door. "The poor beast is like a cat which has been lying eight days in the water. How you look yourself: Like the rider in the book of Revelation." "I feel as though some misfortune had happened there," stammered Lambert, pointing homeward. "Papperlapap!" said Aunt Ursul. "What can have happened? Conrad--yes, Lambert; I already see that now I can't get a rational word out of you, so in God's name, drive on. I have just put my old man to bed and given him a cup of tea, so I am entirely free and will come over in about an hour." She gave Hans, who was already restlessly champing his bit, a blow on his wet neck. He sprang away with his rider. "Those whom we love are always but half near comfort," said Aunt Ursul, looking after him and shaking her head; "nevertheless--nevertheless--Conrad is a madcap, and acted this morning as though he had lost his reason. I must see that all things go right." Aunt Ursul turned back into the house, took her gun from the rack and, with long strides, followed Lambert, who was already immersed in the evening fog which rose from the creek in thick streaks. CHAPTER X When at noon to-day Lambert tore himself away from Catherine, she stood still as though stunned. The conviction that she ought to remain behind had come to her on the instant; the determination to do so had been uttered so soon; the carrying out of the resolution too had followed so closely at its heels, that now, as the forms of the riders disappeared behind a turn of the road and she found herself really alone, it appeared to her as though she were having a disagreeable, fearful dream out of which she must momentarily awake. She struck herself over her forehead and eyes, but all was real. There stood the empty crib. There lay the pail which the mare had pushed over. There was the pillion which at the last moment Lambert had unbuckled from the saddle. There were the short, trampled grass and the tracks of the hoofs of the horses. There was the open door in which she had just now seen Lambert. Catherine took a few steps, as though she would follow the beloved one, and then stood still, pressing her hand on her loud-beating heart. Deep sadness overwhelmed her, but she vigorously fought down the feeling. "He has so often called you a brave girl," said she to herself, "and will you weep and complain like a child which the mother has left alone for a few moments? He will soon come back; surely he will soon come back."