nally she persuaded him, and herself too, that she felt no
uneasiness at all from the prospect of passing a lengthened period
alone, and he departed.

But she had affected resolution which she was far from feeling. She
felt a presentiment that danger was nigh, and it weighed heavily on
her heart. But she saw him depart without tears, and, after watching
him from the door till he entered the forest, betook herself to the
usual duties of a woman in the house of her husband. Yet she could not
forbear going frequently to the door, and sometimes she would wander
forth, and gaze all around their little field, and then watch the
progress of the sun, with an expression of countenance, that, to an
observer, would instantly have revealed the agitation and anxiety
which her heart was suffering. But she saw nothing to inspire
fears--indeed there was much to tranquillize them. Every thing abroad
was in perfect quiet. There was scarcely a breath of air perceptible;
and the waters of the beautiful Merrimack flowed without a ripple. The
calm sky of the last month of summer looked of a deeper and more
heavenly blue, seen as it was by her from a spot circumscribed by tall
trees, now clothed with such a fulness of foliage as made the forest
appear dark and almost impenetrable. Close around the house were
planted corn and vegetables; and a field of wheat, in front of the
dwelling, stretched in unbroken green to the river's brink. There was
not a sound to be heard--save the chirping of a robin that had built
her nest on a lofty chesnut which stood close to the south-east corner
of the house--the only tree suffered to grow within the enclosure. The
young birds were fully fledged, and, under the guidance of the
parents, were about quitting their nest. The lovely wife watched their
movements; the old birds now encouraging, now seeming to chide, their
timid offspring, till finally they reached the woods, and all
disappeared. Slight as the circumstance was, it touched her with a
feeling of loneliness. "Even the birds have left me," said she to
herself, and, pressing her boy closer to her bosom, she burst into
tears. She might well be excused these tears and feelings, for, though
a wife and mother, she had seen the leaves fall but seventeen times.

She watched the sun till it sunk behind the western hills, and then
she watched its beams on the clouds till the last faint tints had
departed: and, fixing her eyes stedfastly on that part of the fore