My own Marian!"
he exclaimed, as he hurried out, expecting to meet her.
Melchizedek alone sprang from the gig, and sank trembling and quaking at
his master's feet.
Thurston blindly pushed past him, and peered and felt in the gig. It was
empty.
"Where is the lady, sirrah? What ails you? Why don't you answer me?"
exclaimed Thurston, anxiously returning to the spot where the boy
crouched. But the latter remained speechless, trembling, groaning, and
wringing his hands. "Will you speak, idiot? I ask you where is the lady?
Was she not upon the beach? What has frightened you so? Did the horse
run away?" inquired Thurston, hurriedly, in great alarm.
"Oh, sir, marster! I 'spects she's killed!"
"Killed! Oh, my God! she has been thrown from the gig!" cried the young
man, in a piercing voice, as he reeled under this blow. In another
instant he sprang upon the poor boy and shaking him furiously, cried in
a voice of mingled grief, rage and anxiety: "Where was she thrown? Where
is she? How did it happen? Oh! villain! villain! you shall pay for this
with your life! Come and show me the spot! instantly! instantly!"
"Oh, marster, have mercy, sir! 'Twasn't along o' me an' the gig it
happened of! She wur 'parted when I got there!"
"Where? Where? Good heavens, where?" asked Thurston, nearly beside
himself.
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