Gipsy stood still in the porch, cold and pale, awaiting his return. But though she waited until the stars grew dim in the sky, he came not. Morning dawned, and found her pale with undefined fear, but still he was absent.
After breakfast, Archie came over, still angry and sullen, after the previous night's scene, to find Gipsy quieter and more gentle than he had ever seen her before in her life.
"I wish he would come! I wish he would come!" cried her wild, excited heart, as she paced up and down, until her eyes grew bright and her cheeks grew burning hot, with feverish watching and vague fear.
"You look ill and excited, Gipsy. A canter over the hills will do you good," said Archie, anxiously.
She eagerly assented, and leaping on Mignonne's back, dashed away at a tremendous pace, yet could not go half quick enough to satisfy her restless longing to fly, fly, she knew not where.
"Where are you going, Gipsy?" cried Archie, who found some difficulty to keep up with the break-neck pace at which she rode.
"To the Black Gorge," was her reply, as she thundered over the cliff.
"Why, Gipsy! what possesses you to go to that wild place?" said Archie, in surprise.
"I don't know—I feel as if I must go there! Don't talk to me, Archie! I believe I'm crazy this morning!"
She flew on swifter than ever, until they reached the spot—a huge, black, yawning gulf among the hills. She rode so close to the fearful brink that Archie's heart stood still in horror.