Norman understood, and pulled up. He saw Varley enter the hut, then he heard a sudden, hoarse cry. It was so terrible in its suddenness and depth that it sent his heart to his mouth. He dashed forward and met Varley staggering out of the hut, his face white as death, his hands clinched.
“My God!” Norman exclaimed. “What’s the matter?”
Varley’s lips moved for a second without sound, then he pointed, without looking at it, to a man’s cap lying on the floor.
“She’s gone!” he said, hoarsely. “They’ve taken her!”
[CHAPTER XXXVII.]
The two men looked at each other in silence, that silence which is more terrible than any sound can be, even the cry of anguish.
Varley’s face was livid, and big drops of sweat stood upon his forehead.
“Gone!” said Norman at last, and in a whisper. “What do you mean?”
“She has gone!” said Varley. “They have kidnapped her!”