"What is to become of me?" asked the countess.
"You will be in good hands," he answered briefly. "I am going to find out what has become of Florence. Is there a deserted farmhouse hereabouts?" he asked of the farmer.
"Not that I recollect."
"Why yes, there is, Jake. There's that old hut about two miles up the fork," volunteered the wife. "Where the Swede died last winter."
"By jingo! I'm going into the village and see if that man brought in the rig."
"But get my horse first. My name is James Norton, and I am on the Blade in New York. Which way do I go?"
"First turn to the left. Come on; I'll get the horse for you."
Once the horse was saddled, Norton set off at a run. He was unarmed; he forgot all about this fact. His one thought was to find the woman he loved. He was not afraid of meeting a dozen men, not while his present fury lasted.
And he fell into an ambush within a hundred yards of his goal. They dragged him off the horse and buffeted and mishandled him into the hut.
"Both of them!" said Vroon, rubbing his hands.