Thurston might have remained much longer, too deeply and painfully absorbed in thought to notice the darkening of the night or the beating of the storm, had not a gust of the rain and wind, of unusual violence, shaken the windows.

This recalled Marian to his mind; it was nearly time for her to arrive; he hoped that she was near the house; that she would soon be there; he arose and went to the window to look forth into the night; but the deep darkness prevented his seeing, as the noise of the storm prevented his hearing the approach of any vehicle that might be near.  He went back to the bedside; the old man was breathing his life away without a struggle.  Thurston called the mulatto housekeeper to take his place, and then went down stairs and out of the hall door, and gazed and listened for the coming of the gig, in vain.  He was just about to re-enter the hall and close the door when the sound of wheels, dashing violently, helter-skelter, and with break-neck speed into the yard, arrested his attention.

“Marian! it is my dear Marian at last; but the fellow need not risk her life to save her from the storm by driving at that rate.  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.

“On de beach, sir.  Jes’ as I got down there, I jumped out’n de gig, and walked along, and then I couldn’t see my way, an’ I turned de bull-eye ob de lantern on de sand afore me, an’ oh, marse—­”

“Go, on! go on!”

“I seen de lady lying like dead, and a man jump up and run away, and when I went nigh, I seen her all welkering in her blood, an’ dis yer lying by her,” and the boy handed a small poignard to his master.