“Who s’posed ’twas half-past nine,” she exclaimed. “I’ll go this minit and see if Miss Marian wants me.”
Just then another loud piercing howl from Bruno, who was growing impatient, fell upon her ear and arrested her movements.
“What can ail the critter,” she said—“and he’s down on the bridge, too, I believe.”
The other negroes also heard the cry, which was succeeded by another and another, and became at last one prolonged yell, which echoed down the river and over the hills, starting Frederic from his deep reverie and bringing him to the piazza, where the blacks had assembled in a body.
“’Spects mebbe Bruno’s done cotched somethin’ or somebody down thar,” suggested Philip, the most courageous of the group.
“Suppose you go and see,” said Frederic, and lighting his old lantern Philip sallied out, followed ere long by all his comrades, who, by accusing each other of being “skeered to death,” managed to keep up their own courage.
The bridge was reached, and in a tremor of delight Bruno bounded upon Phil, upsetting the old man and extinguishing the light, so that they were in total darkness. The white handkerchief, however, caught Dinah’s eye, and in picking it up she also felt the glove, which was lying near it. But this did not explain the mystery—and after searching in vain for man, beast or hobgoblin, the party returned to the house, where their master awaited them.
“Thar warn’t nothin’ thar ’cept this yer rag and glove,” said Dinah, passing the articles to him.
He took them, and going to the light saw the name upon the handkerchief, “Marian Lindsey.” The glove too, he recognised as belonging to her, and with a vague fear of impending evil, he asked where they found them.
“On the bridge,” answered Dinah; “somebody must have drapped ’em. That handkercher looks mighty like Miss Marian’s hem-stitched one.”