"Auber!" I called. I was not sure that he replied.
When I was very close I began at once, as if involuntarily: "Auber, you see, I came to meet you. There is a message from Ezekiel—a Wall Street panic, or something. He wants you to meet him on the 11.10 to-mor—It will be necess—Auber?" Had I been talking to the air? I looked about me. "Auber!—Auber Hurn!" I called. There was no one there; but in the hush of listening there came, as if wandering to me through the forest, the little lost gurgle of a distant brook.
For a moment I stood fascinated by a reminiscence—and then, a sudden fear swelling in my throat, I ran. Back on the path I fled, my legs seeming to go of themselves, hurling my body violently along; my feet pounding behind, as if in pursuit, whirling around the turns, then down the last straight aisle, past the sentinel trees, out into the light.
When I reached the farmyard, a fresh team was being hitched to our carriage.
"What! Has Mr. Hurn come back?" I asked, shakily.
"No," said Josiah, "but I thought maybe you'd want things ready. Didn't you find him?"
"Why—no," I replied, and then repeated firmly, "No, I did not."
I sat down, exhausted, on the porch, and waited. At the end of ten minutes Auber Hurn entered the gate, crossed to the buggy, and got in. Josiah, from between the horses where he was buckling a knee-guard, looked up in surprise. "You got that message, Mr. Hurn?"
"Yes," said Auber, speaking very distinctly. "Mr. Crenshaw just gave it to me."