“Oh, Hannibal, Hannibal, what can he do there—­what can any one do there?” And a dead pallor overspread the girl’s face.  To speak of the blind groping of her friends but served to fix the horror of their situation in her mind.

“I don’t know, Miss Betty, but the judge is always thinking of things to do; seems like they was mostly things no one else would ever think of.”

Betty had placed the candle on the stool and seated herself on one of the beds.  There was the murmur of voices in the room below; she wondered if her fate was under consideration and what that fate was to be.  Hannibal, who had been examining the window, returned to her side.

“Miss Betty, if we could just get out of this loft we could steal their skiff and row down to the river; I reckon they got just the one boat; the only way they could get to us would be to swim out, and if they done that we could pound ’em over the head with the oars the least little thing sinks you when you’re in the water.”  But this murderous fancy of his failed to interest Betty.

Presently they heard Sherrod and Bunker come up from the shore with George.  Slosson joined them and there was a brief discussion, then an interval of silence, and the sound of voices again as the three white men moved back across the field in the direction of the bayou.  There succeeded a period of utter stillness, both in the cabin and in the clearing, a somber hush that plunged Betty yet deeper in despair.  Wild thoughts assailed her, thoughts against which she struggled with all the strength of her will.

In that hour of stress Hannibal was sustained by his faith in the judge.  He saw his patron’s powerful and picturesque intelligence applied to solving the mystery of their disappearance from Belle Plain; it was inconceivable that this could prove otherwise than disastrous to Mr. Slosson and he endeavored to share the confidence he was feeling with Betty, but there was something so forced and unnatural in the girl’s voice and manner when she discussed his conjectures that he quickly fell into an awed silence.  At last, and it must have been some time after midnight, troubled slumbers claimed him.  No moment of forgetfulness came to Betty.  She was waiting for what—­she did not know!  The candle burnt lower and lower and finally went out and she was left in darkness, but again she was conscious of sounds from the room below.  At first it was only a word or a sentence, then the guarded speech became a steady monotone that ran deep into the night; eventually this ceased and Betty fancied she heard sobs.

At length points of light began to show through chinks in the logs.  Hannibal roused and sat up, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

“Wasn’t you able to sleep none?” he inquired.  Betty shook her head.  He looked at her with an expression of troubled concern.  “How soon do you reckon the judge will know?” he asked.