no longer saw any thing in his purpose, but the honourable spectacle of love and courage struggling with danger.
The clock struck nine. William’s heart beat violently. He sought for some pretext for withdrawing, but in vain: what pretext could a man find for quitting his young bride on their bridal festival? Time flew faster than an arrow: in the arms of love, that should have crowned him with happiness, he suffered the pangs of martyrdom. Ten o’clock was now past: and the decisive moment was at hand. Without taking leave, William stole from the side of his bride; already he was outside the house with his implements of labor, when old Anne came after him. “Whither away, William, at this time of night?” asked she anxiously. “I shot a deer, and forgot it in my hurry,” was the answer. In vain she begged him to stay: all her intreaties were flung away, and even the tender caresses of Kate, whose mind misgave her, that some mystery lay buried in his hurry and agitation. William
N 2
