"Good Lord!" muttered the squire, wiping the drops of terror off his face. "What a perfect little devil! Did ever any one see such a look on a human face before! It's my opinion she's allied to Old Nick, and will carry me off some night in a brimstone of cloud and fire—I mean a fire of cloud and brimstone. Good gracious! I'm palpitating like a hysterical girl. I never got such a fright in my life. I vow it's a danger to go to bed with that desperate little limb in the house. I shouldn't wonder if she set the place on fire about our ears and burned us all in our beds, or cut our throats, or something. She looked wild and crazy enough to do it. Well, I reckon, I'll be more careful how I chastise her for the future, that's certain."
So saying, the squire took his night-lamp and went off to bed, taking the precaution to double lock his door, lest the "little imp" should take it into her head to carry him off bodily during the night.
No such catastrophe occurred, however, and when the squire went down to breakfast, he found everything going on as usual. Lizzie lay on a lounge, immersed in the pages of a novel, and Louis sat by the window busily sketching, as was his custom.
"I say, Lizzie, have you seen anything of Gipsy this morning?" he inquired, as he entered.
"No, papa."
"I'd rather think she rode off before any of us were up this morning," said Louis, raising his head. "Mignonne is not in the stable."
This was nothing unusual, so without waiting for her, the family sat down to breakfast.
But half an hour after, Totty came running in alarm to Mrs. Gower, to say Miss Gipsy's bed had not been slept in all night. This fact was self-evident; and the worthy housekeeper sought out the squire to learn whether Gipsy had returned home the night before.
"Yes, yes, to be sure she did. 'Night brings home all stragglers,' as Solomon says. Why?"
"Because she has not slept in her bed the livelong night."