“Missie,” cried the voice in Dutch, “are you there missie?”
“That is Tom, our driver,” she said, “come to look for me. Answer for me, Richard.”
So the lad, who had very good lungs, roared in reply:
“Yes, I’m here, safe, waiting for the mist to lift, and the water to run down.”
“God be thanked,” yelled the distant Tom. “We thought that you were surely drowned. But, then, why is your voice changed?”
“Because an English heer is with me,” cried Rachel. “Go and look for his horse and bring a rope, then wait till the mist rises. Also send to tell the pastor and my mother that I am safe.”
“I am here, Rachel,” shouted another voice, her father’s. “I have been looking for you all night, and we have got the Englishman’s horse. Don’t come into the water yet. Wait till we can see.”
“That’s good news, any way,” said Richard, “though I shall have to ride hard to catch up the waggons.”
Rachel’s face fell.
“Yes,” she said; “very good news.”