At the first burst of the storm, Lizzie and Mrs. Gower hastened in affright to the parlor, where the squire was peacefully snoring in his arm-chair, and Louis was still finishing his sketch.
The noise and bustle of their entrance aroused the squire from his slumbers, and after sundry short snorts he woke up, and seeing the state of affairs, his first inquiry was for Gipsy.
"Where's that little abomination, now?" he abruptly demanded, in a tone that denoted his temper was not improved by the sudden breaking up of his nap.
All were silent. Mrs. Gower through fear, and the others through ignorance.
"Where is she? where is she, I say?" thundered the squire. "Doesn't somebody know?"
"Most likely up stairs somewhere," said Louis. "Shall I go and see?"
"No, you sha'n't 'go and see.' It's the duty of the women there to look after her, but they don't do it. She might be lost, or murdered, or killed, fifty times a day, for all they care. 'Who trusteth in the ungodly shall be deceived,' as Solomon says. Ring that bell."
Louis obeyed; and in a few minutes Totty, quaking with terror, made her appearance.
"Where's your young mistress? Where's Miss Gipsy, eh?" demanded the squire, in an awful voice.
"Deed, mas'r, she's rode off. I couldn't stop her nohow, 'deed——"