"'Bout seven mile round, an' five 'cross."

"Have you a horse?"

"Fust rate!"

"Saddle him, and go to Markham's at once. The father and mother of this girl are frantic: a thousand men are hunting for her; you'll be paid."

"I don't want no pay," said Wilder, hurrying out. Five minutes later, sitting on his saddle, he received a slip of paper from Bart.

"Who shall I say?" said Wilder, not without curiosity on his own account.

"That will tell the Judge all he'll want to know. He will hear my name as soon as he will care to."

Wilder dashed off down the forest-road by which Bart and Julia had approached his house.

Bart went listlessly into the house. His energy and excitement had suddenly died out, with the exigency which called them forth; his mental glow and physical effort, both wonderful and long-continued to an intense strain, left him, and in the reaction he almost collapsed.

Mrs. Wilder offered him one of her husband's coats. He was not cold.

She placed a smoking breakfast before him. He loathed its sight and fragrance, and drank a little milk.

She knew he was a hero; so young and so handsome, yet a mere boy; his sad, grave face had a wonderful beauty to her, and his manners were so high, and like a gentleman born. She asked him some questions about his finding Julia, and he answered dreamily, and in few words, and seemed hardly to know what he said.

"Is Miss Markham asleep?--is she quiet?"

Mrs. Wilder stepped to the inner room. "She is," she answered; "nothing seems to ail her but weariness and exhaustion. She will not suffer from it."

"Is she alone?"

"She is in bed with my daughter Rose."

"May I just look at her one moment?"

"Certainly."

One look from the door at the sweetly-sleeping face, and without a word he hurried from the house. He had felt a great heart-throb when he came upon her in the woods, and now, when all was over, and no further call for action or invention was on him, the strong, wild rush of the old love for a moment overwhelmed him. It would a.s.sert itself, and was his momentary master. But presently he turned away, with an unspoken and final adieu.

Two hours later the Judge, on his smoking steed, dashed up to the cabin, followed by the Doctor and two or three others. As he touched the ground, Julia, with a cry of joy, sprang into his arms.

She had murmured in her sleep, awoke, and would get up and dress.

She laughed, and said funny little things at her looks and dress, and examined the "wamus" with great interest, with a blush put it on, and tied it coquettishly about her waist, then seemed to think, and took it off gravely. Next she ran eagerly out to the other room, and asked for Bart, and looked grave, and wondered, when Mrs. Wilder told her he had gone, and she wondered that Mrs. Wilder would let him go.

She kissed that good woman when she first got up, and was already in love with sweet, shy, tall, comely Rose, who was seventeen, and had made fast friends with Ann and George, the younger ones. Then she ran out into the melting snow and bright soft air. How serene it all was, and how tall and silent stood the trees, in the bright sun! How calm and innocent it all was, and looked as if nothing dreadful had ever happened in it, and a robin came and sang from an old tree, near by.

And she talked, and wondered about her mother and father, and, by little bits, told much of what happened the night before; and wondered--this time to herself--why Bart went off; and she looked sad over it.

Mrs. Wilder looked at her, and listened to her, and in her woman's heart she pondered of these two, and wished she had kept Bart; she was sad and sorry for them, and most for him, for she saw his soul die in his eyes as he turned from Julia's sleeping face.

Then came the tramp of horses, and Julia sprang out, and into her father's arms.

One hour after came Julia's mother and Nell, in the light carriage; and kisses, and tears, and little laughy sobs, and words that ran out with little freshets of tears, and unanswered questions, and unasked answers, broken and incoherent; yet all were happy, and all thankful and grateful to their Father in Heaven; and blessings and thanks--many of them unsaid--to the absent one.

And so the lost one was restored, and soon they started back.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

AT JUDGE MARKHAM'S.

When Mrs. Markham at last realized that Julia was lost, she hastily arrayed herself and went out with the others to search for her, calmly, hopefully, and persistently. She went, and clambered, and looked, and called, and when she could look and go no further, as woman may, she waited, and watched, and prayed, and the night grew cold, and the wind and snow came, and as trumpets were blown and guns discharged, and fires lighted in the woods, and torches flashed and lanterns gleamed through the trees, she still watched, and hoped, and prayed.

When at last the storm and exhaustion drove men in, she was very calm and pale, said little, and went about with chilled tears in her eyes.

Judge Markham was a strong, brave, sagacious man, and struggled and fought to the last, but finally in silence he rejoined his silent wife. At about three in the morning, and while the storm was at its height, she turned from the blank window where she stood, with a softened look in her eyes, from which full tides were now for the first time falling; and approaching her husband, who man-like, when nothing more could be done by courage and strength, sat with his face downward on his arms, resting on the table, and breathing great dry gasps, and sobs of agony.

"Edward," said she, stooping over him, "it comes to me somehow that Julia is safe; that she has somewhere found shelter, and we shall find her."

And now she murmured, and whispered, and talked, as the impression seemed to deepen in her own heart, and she knelt, and once more a fervent prayer of hope and faith went up. The man came and knelt by her, and joined in her prayer, and grew calm.

"Julia," said he, "we have at least G.o.d, and with Him is all."

When the morning came, five hundred anxious and determined men, oppressed with sad forebodings, had gathered from all that region for the search.

Persistently they adhered to the idea that the missing girl was in the lower woods.

A regular organized search by men and boys, in a continuous line, was resolved upon. Marshals were appointed, signals agreed upon, and appliances and restoratives provided; and the men were hastening to their places. A little knot near the Judge's house were still discussing the matter, as in doubt about the expediency of further search in that locality.

George was in this group, and had, as directed, given Barton's opinion. Judge Markham, who was giving some last directions joined these men, and listened while Uncle Jonah, in a few words, explained Bart's theory--that the girl would turn back from the chopping to the old road, and if there confused, would be likely to go into the woods, and directly away from her home.

"And where is Bart?" asked the Judge.

"He started at about nine last night, with two big bundles of hickory," said George, "to look for her, and had not returned half an hour ago."

"Where did he go?" asked the Judge eagerly.

"Into the woods."

"And has not returned?"

"No."

"Your girl is safe," said Uncle Jonah. "The boy has found her, I'll bet my soul!"

While the Judge stood, struck and a little startled, by this information, and Jonah's positive a.s.surance, a man on a foaming steed came plunging down the hill, just south of the house, and pulling up, called out, "Where is Judge Markham?"

"I am he."

"Oh! Good-morning, Judge! This is for you. Your girl is safe."