"Not 'good-by' yet, little Christie. I will go with thee to——"
"But, Uncle Reuben, there is no necessity. I know the way."
"And did thee think, little one, I was going to let thee walk that distance in this pelting storm?" said Uncle Reuben, with a sad, grave smile. "No; it is not quite so bad as that. Thee will ride in the donkey-cart until we reach——"
"Then you have such a conveyance?" said Willard, eagerly. "Thank Heaven for that! In it you will at least be saved the fatigue of walking, Christie."
"But how can you leave Bertha, Uncle Reuben?"
"I will lock the door, and Bertha will go to bed—will thee not, Bertha?"
The maniac nodded, and still wistfully watched Christie, as though some faint impression that she was going to lose her was forcing its way through her clouded brain.
For the first time, Willard turned his eyes upon her, and gave a violent start, as he recognized the well-known spectral face.
"Who is she?" he asked, in breathless surprise.
In a few brief words, Christie gave him to understand how it had happened he had seen her on the isle.