"Didn't you meet Miss Zell?" he asked in a whisper.
"Meet her? No," answered Edith, excitedly.
"Dat's quare. She went out with hat and shawl on a little while ago.
P'raps she's come back, and gone upstairs again."
Trembling so she could hardly walk steadily, Edith hurried to her room, and there saw Zell's note. Tearing it open, she only read the first line, and then rushed down to her mother and Laura, sobbing:
"Zell's gone."
"Gone! Where?" they said, with dismayed faces.
Edith's only reply was to look suddenly at her watch, put on her hat, and dart out of the door. She saw that there were still ten minutes before the evening boat passed the Pushton landing, and remembered that it was sometimes delayed. There was a shorter road to the dock than the one through the village, and this she took, with flying feet, and a white but determined face. It would have been a terrible thing for Van Dam to have met her then. She seemed sustained by supernatural strength, and, walking and running by turns, made the mile and a half in an incredibly short space of time. As she reached the top of the hill above the landing, she saw the boat coming in to the dock. Though panting and almost spent, again she ran at the top of her speed. Half-way down she heard the plank ring out upon the wharf.
"Stop!" she called. But her parched lips uttered only a faint sound, like the cry of one in a dream.
A moment later, as she struggled desperately forward, there came, like the knell of hope, the command:
"All aboard!"