"'I have borrowed the nets from the weir, Miss Matty. Shall we
drag the ponds to-night, or wait for the morning?'
"I remember staring in his face to gather his meaning; and when I
did, I laughed out loud. The horror of that new thought--our
bright, darling Peter, cold, and stark, and dead! I remember the
ring of my own laugh now.
"The next day Deborah was at home before I was myself again. She
would not have been so weak as to give way as I had done; but my
screams (my horrible laughter had ended in crying) had roused my
sweet dear mother, whose poor wandering wits were called back and
collected as soon as a child needed her care. She and Deborah sat
by my bedside; I knew by the looks of each that there had been no
news of Peter--no awful, ghastly news, which was what I most had
dreaded in my dull state between sleeping and waking.
"The same result of all the searching had brought something of the
same relief to my mother, to whom, I am sure, the thought that
Peter might even then be hanging dead in some of the familiar home
places had caused that never-ending walk of yesterday. Her soft
eyes never were the same again after that; they had always a
restless, craving look, as if seeking for what they could not find.
Oh! it was an awful time; coming down like a thunder-bolt on the
still sunny day when the lilacs were all in bloom.
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