Young Vale dashed up to the gate, and, hastily throwing the reins over his horse’s neck, dismounted. Approaching his mother with an air of respect, he tenderly embraced her, imprinting a kiss upon her forehead.
“My son,” said she, “you come at a moment of great disaster to us. Had you not come at this moment, I would have sent for you, though it be unsafe for you to be seen about your home.”
Alarmed by the serious look of his mother, the young soldier exclaimed: “Good heavens! what has happened?”
“It may not be dreadful, but it is sad, indeed. Your sister is gone!”
“Gone!” shouted the trooper. “Not dead? How? when? where?”
“Calm yourself, my son, she is not dead; at least, I do not think so. She disappeared last night—was torn violently from her room.”
“Disappeared! torn from her room! By whom? Say quickly!” he almost shouted, while his eyes fairly flashed fire.
“There is the mystery,” she said, pointing to the tracks in the grass, and to the imprints of the horses’ feet in the dust of the road before the gate.
John beheld these evidences of the presence of men and horses. He made a close scrutiny of every foot-print as if in them could be read a history of every thing which had occurred on the previous night. He then inspected the chamber room, the bed, the closet, the corners of the room, all were closely searched. Under a chair which stood by the bedside, he spied a small piece of white paper. He picked it up and read:
“All ready, as soon as you like. You can trust the woman for a jailer as long as you pay her, but no longer.