The bishop stood and reflected; the affair looked serious. Clyde was a practical, sensible fellow—and he was gone. Why did he go?
“Have you seen any of the Archibalds yet?” he asked.
“No,” said she; “I guess they’re not up yet, though it’s late for them. My young woman ain’t up nuther, but it ain’t late for her.”
The bishop walked slowly towards the cabin and regarded it earnestly. After a few minutes inspection he stepped up to the door and knocked. Then he knocked again and again, and hearing nothing from within he became alarmed, and ran to Matlack.
“Hello!” he cried. “Something has happened to your people, or they have gone away. Come to the cabin, quick!”
In less than a minute Matlack, the bishop, and Bill Hammond were at the cabin, and the unfastened door was opened wide. No one was in the house, that was plain enough, but on the floor were four bags packed for transportation.
Matlack looked about him, and then he laughed. “All right,” said he; “there ain’t no need of worryin’ ourselves. They haven’t left a thing of theirs about, everything’s packed up and ready to be sent for. When people do that, you may be sure nothing’s happened to them. They’ve gone off, and I bet it’s to get rid of that young woman’s preachin’. But I don’t blame them; I don’t wonder they couldn’t stand it.”
The bishop made no reply. Remembering his recent conversation with Mrs. Archibald, he believed that, if they had quietly gone away, there was a better reason for it than Miss Raybold’s fluency of expression. It was possible that something might have happened after he had retired from the scene the night before, for when he went to sleep Raybold was still walking up and down in the moonlight.
His mind was greatly disturbed. They were gone, and he was left. “What are you going to do?” he asked Matlack.
“Nothin’ just now,” said the guide. “If they don’t send for their things pretty soon, I’ll go over to Sadler’s and find out what’s the matter. But they’re all right. Look how careful them bags is strapped up!”