Yes, for when she went closer,
drawn by her wonder, she found that the stirrups had been much
shortened.
Nothing was forgotten by this invisible caretaker; he had even left
out the cooking-tins, and she found a little batter of flapjack
flour mixed.
The riddle was too great for solving. Perhaps Wilbur had disappeared
merely to play a practical jest on her; but that supposition was too
childish to be retained an instant. Perhaps--perhaps Pierre himself
had discovered her, but having vowed never to see her again, he cared
for her like the invisible hands in the old Greek fable.
This, again, an instinctive knowledge made her dismiss. If he were so
close, loving her, he could not stay away; she read in her own heart,
and knew. Then it must be something else; evil, because it feared to
be seen; not wholly evil, because it surrounded her with care.
At least this new emotion obscured somewhat the terror and the sorrow
of Wilbur's disappearance. She cooked her breakfast as if obeying the
order of the unseen, climbed into the saddle of Wilbur's horse, and
started off up the valley, leading her own mount.
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