She has certainly fallen down the bank to the stream below, and how could it be possible for her to escape from that cold, black flood in the gloom and darkness of the night? It is just impossible. Why, a strong man and a good swimmer would have great difficulty in getting out of that black flood. I think there is no doubt that I am safe; I feel sure of it. Her escape is just impossible.” Just impossible! Ah, Gilbert Warrington, you forget that there is One who watches over the helpless and unprotected, and that “there is nothing impossible with God.” [Pg 81] [Pg 81] At last, tired out by his fruitless search, he crept slowly and with difficulty up the bank, and in the early morning, which was just beginning to dawn, he stood once more beside the carriage with a disappointed look upon his sullen face. “Curse her!” he panted, harshly; “that woman has been the bane of my life. She has led me a fine chase from first to last. But she is dead now; I am sure of that. How could she survive such a fall? and the water is very deep; and I happen to know that she can not swim a stroke. Well, well! I’ve had a hard night’s work, and all for nothing. Now I must get back and dispose of the team and carriage in some way to avert suspicion from myself.” He sprung upon the box once more and drove rapidly away, satisfied that his prisoner must have perished in the black waters of the stream, yet keeping a sharp lookout all the time, from his position upon the box, lest something might have happened to save her from the fate to which he had mentally consigned her. But all search was vain. He found nothing; saw no trace of anything which reminded him of the missing woman. He drove rapidly back, not to The Oaks, but to the adjacent village—to Doctor Danton’s house. There he left the carriage and horses as though they had simply run away, only to bring up at last at their own stable. And so indeed Doctor Danton believed when late in the day, tired and disappointed, chagrined and angry with[Pg 82] himself and the whole world at large, he returned home and found the tired and hungry horses, with the carriage looking none the worse for wear, standing at the open door of the stable, demurely waiting for some one to attend to their wants. Tom’s story of the assault upon him while seated upon the carriage box, patiently awaiting the coming of his master, was set down to the phantasies of his own brain overpowered by sleep; and then he must have fallen from the
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