y advancing. Ah,
might not Manton be her saviour? But how explain to Manton her deceit
toward him during all this time of their acquaintance? No, she could not
tell him: he would not understand. Could she not boldly confront him,
implore him to forgive and forget her thoughtless foolishness, beg him
to spare her, to leave her before this terrible secret should reach her
father's ears and bring everlasting woe and disgrace upon her? This
seemed to call for even more courage than was required to face the awful
alternative. Should she, then, confess all to the father whose ire she
so greatly feared?--go to him now with tears of repentance and cast
herself at his feet, praying for mercy and for protection? There was the
cliff, with its terrifying height and its sharp, ugly crags: she would
almost rather throw herself into the swashing, roaring waves at its base
than tell the tale of her folly. Yet--oh, what _was_ she to do? Quick!
Time was flying on its swiftest wings. He might be there at any moment.
Oh, would no one save her?

While she was still hoping and praying and despairing, no conclusion
reached, no aiding hand outstretched for her deliverance, the day
advanced toward its end; the sun sank lower and still lower upon the
ridge of those long, darkly-wooded hills to the westward, shed its last
red rays upon the ocean, reflected its dying brilliancy upon the fleecy
clouds above, and soon left nothing but a fading twilight to show men
their way about the world. To a man seeking unknown objects in a
hitherto unexplored vicinity this condition of affairs is unpropitious;
but Dudley, having tied his hired steed to a neighboring fence,
concluded nevertheless not to be daunted, and proceeded on foot in
search of the "new-fangled, sorter yaller-and-red, p'inted-roofed
house," where the village postmaster had told him the lady whom he
sought resided. It was not difficult to find: it was the only thing for
miles around that laid any claims to "new-fangledness," and he
recognized it at a glance. From behind the hedge that bordered the place
he scrutinized each window. No smiling face appeared to welcome him. He
scanned the lawn, the shrubbery, the dark shade beneath the trees: no
girlish figure could be seen to answer to the one he carried in his
mind.

"Perhaps my letter hasn't reached her," was his disappointed soliloquy.
Then followed a few moments of silent thought. Suddenly he pulled
himself together, put on a bold front,