ng
in every limb.

"My boy, my boy, where is my boy?" she cried. "Mr. Mallet, why are you
here without him? Bring him to me!"

"Has no one seen Mr. Hudson?" Rowland asked of the others. "Has he not
returned?"

Each one shook his head and looked grave, and Rowland attempted to
reassure Mrs. Hudson by saying that of course he had taken refuge in a
chalet.

"Go and find him, go and find him!" she cried, insanely. "Don't stand
there and talk, or I shall die!" It was now as dark as evening, and
Rowland could just distinguish the figure of Singleton scampering
homeward with his box and easel. "And where is Mary?" Mrs. Hudson went
on; "what in mercy's name has become of her? Mr. Mallet, why did you
ever bring us here?"

There came a prodigious flash of lightning, and the limitless tumult
about them turned clearer than midsummer noonday. The brightness lasted
long enough to enable Rowland to see a woman's figure on the top of
an eminence near the house. It was Mary Garland, questioning the lurid
darkness for Roderick. Rowland sprang out to interrupt her vigil, but in
a moment he encountered her, retreating. He seized her hand and hurried
her to the house, where, as soon as she stepped into the covered
gallery, Mrs. Hudson fell upon her with frantic lamentations.

"Did you see nothing,--nothing?" she cried. "Tell Mr. Mallet he must go
and find him, with some men, some lights, some wrappings. Go, go, go,
sir! In mercy, go!"

Rowland was extremely perturbed by the poor lady's vociferous folly, for
he deemed her anxiety superfluous. He had offered his suggestion with
sincerity; nothing was more probable than that Roderick had found
shelter in a herdsman's cabin. These were numerous on the neighboring
mountains, and the storm had given fair warning of its approach. Miss
Garland stood there very pale, saying nothing, but looking at him. He
expected that she would check her cousin's importunity. "Could you find
him?" she suddenly asked. "Would it be of use?"

The question seemed to him a flash intenser than the lightning that was
raking the sky before them. It shattered his dream that he weighed in
the scale! But before he could answer, the full fury of the storm was
upon them; the rain descended in sounding torrents. Every one fell back
into the house. There had been no time to light lamps, and in the little
uncarpeted parlor, in the unnatural darkness, Rowland felt Mary's hand
upon his arm. For a moment it had an eloquent