r, denser darkness around Pine Bluff. She turned,
and, under cover of the darkness, moved swiftly and silently from the
locality. The storm was coming on very fast. The rain was falling and
the wind rising and driving it into her face. She pulled her hood
closely about her face, and wrapped her shawl tightly about her as she
met the blast.

Oh! where was Thurston, and why did he not come? She blamed herself for
having ventured out; yet could she have foreseen this? No; for she had
confidently trusted in his keeping his appointment. She had never known
him to fail before. What could have caused the failure now? Had he kept
his tryste they would now have been safely housed at Old Field Cottage.
Perhaps Thurston, seeing the clouds, had taken for granted that she
would not come, and he had therefore stayed away. Yet, no; she could not
for an instant entertain that thought. Well she knew that had a storm
risen, and raged as never a storm did before, Thurston, upon the bare
possibility of her presence there, would keep his appointment. No;
something beyond his control had delayed him. And, unless he should now
very soon appear, something very serious had happened to him. The storm
was increasing in violence; her shawl was already wet, and she resolved
to hurry home.

She had just turned to go when the sound of a man's heavy, measured
footsteps, approaching from the opposite direction, fell upon her ear.
She looked up half in dread, and strained her eyes out into the
blackness of the night. It was too dark to see anything but the outline
of a man's figure wrapped in a large cloak, coming slowly on toward her.
As the man drew near she recognized the well-known figure, air and gait;
she had of the identity. She hastened to meet him, exclaiming in a low,
eager tone:

"Thurston! dear Thurston!"

The man paused, folded his cloak about him, drew up, and stood perfectly
still.

Why did he not answer her? Why did he not speak to her? Why did he stand
so motionless, and look so strange? She could not have seen the
expression of his countenance, even if a flap of his cloak had not been
folded across his face; but his whole form shook as with an ague fit.

"Thurston! dear Thurston!" she exclaimed once more, under her breath, as
she pressed toward him.

But he suddenly stretched out his hand to repulse her, gasping, as it
were, breathlessly, "Not yet--not yet!" and again his whole frame shook
with an inward storm. What could be t