She woke hours later with a start, instantly alert, quivering with fear and life and energy, for she felt like one who has gone to sleep with voices in his ear.
While she slept someone had been near her; she could have sworn it before her startled eyes glanced around.
And though she kept whispering, with white lips, "No, no; it is impossible!" yet there was evidence which proved it.

The fire should have burned out, but instead it flamed more brightly than ever, and there was a little heap of fuel laid conveniently close.

Moreover, both horses were saddled, and the pack lashed on the saddle of her own mount.
Whatever man or demon had done this work evidently intended that she should ride Wilbur's beautiful bay.

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.