"It is but a momentary chill, dear Philip. Oh, let us go and find my father. Certainty will be more endurable than this dreadful suspense."
They arose, pursuing their search through the gray dawn which brightened soon into as glorious a September day as ever shone. There was no use in trying to convict Mother Nature of crime and bloodshed; she appeared totally unconscious of the waste and ruin she had spread over the land the previous day. Through the wrecked wilderness they struggled forward, silent, sad, looking in every direction for traces of their friends, and making their way, as correctly as they could discern it, with the river for a guide, toward the home which they expected to find overwhelmed and scattered by the storm.
It was four or five hours before they came in sight of the cabin, so toilsome was their course; many times Alice had been obliged to rest, for hunger and fatigue were becoming overpowering, and now Philip had to support her almost entirely, as she clung to his arm.
"Take courage, dearest,—there is the house, and standing, as I live!"
The storm, sweeping on, had just touched with its scattering edges the house, which was unroofed and the chimney blown down, and otherwise shaken and injured, though not totally demolished. As the two came in sight of it, they perceived old Pallas, sitting on the front step in an attitude of complete despondency, her apron thrown over her face, motionless and silent. She did not hear them nor see them until they stood by her side.
"Pallas! what is the news? where is my father?"
The old woman flung her apron down with a mingled laugh and groan.
"Oh, my chile, my darlin', my pickaninny, is dat you, an' no mistake?" Springing up, she caught her young mistress to her bosom, and holding her there, laughed and sobbed over her together. "Sence I seen you safe agin, and young masser, too, bof of you safe and soun', as I neber 'spected to behold on dis yearth agin, let me go now, 'long wid my ole man—O Lord! let thy serbent depart in peace!"
"My father—have you heard from him since the storm?"
"No, darlin', not from one single soul, all dis awful night. De ladies dey were wid me till de mornin' broke, den dey set out, cryin' and weepin' and wringin' dere han's, to look for all you who was in de wood. Oh, dis has been a turrible season for a weddin'. I had a sense all de time suthin' was goin' to happen. My poor ole man!"