"This way," said Gipsy, pulling her along to where stood her horse. "Now, get up there, and put your arms around my waist, and hold on for your life."
"Oh! dear me! I never rid a horseback in my life, and I'll fall off—I know I will!" said the old woman, wringing her hands in fresh distress.
"Well, I can't help it; you'll have to make the attempt, or stay here till I reach St. Mark's, and rouse up the people. Which will you do?"
"Oh! I dassent stay. I'll go 'long with you, somehow."
"Very well. Up with you then," said Gipsy, almost lifting her into the saddle. "Now, I'll get on before you, and mind, if you don't hold on well, you'll never reach the village alive."
With the clutch of mortal fear, the old lady grasped Gipsy round the waist, and held on for dear life, until Mount Sunset was gained, when, more dead than alive, she was assisted to alight, and consigned to the care of the servants.
Louis, who had just returned from his interview with Celeste, was in the parlor with the squire, meditating how he should make his proposal, when Gipsy, pale, wild, and disordered, her hair disheveled, and her garments dyed with blood, burst in upon them, electrifying them with amazement.
Great was their consternation as they listened to the rapidly-told tale. There was no time left to congratulate her on her narrow escape, for she impetuously commanded Louis to mount immediately and take three or four of the servants to bring away the body.
With a rapidity almost as great as her own, her counsels were obeyed, and Gipsy, with Louis beside her, started back to the scene of the catastrophe, followed by four of the servants.
They reached the spot at last, and Gipsy drew back in dismay as she discovered the body was gone.