I will never forgive you."

There was no need of this caution, for he presented a man whose presence
made me feel that I was a very little girl and should have been at home.
He was over six feet tall, well formed and strongly built, with black
hair and eyes, a long face, and heavy black whiskers. He was handsomely
dressed, and his manner that of a grave and reverend seignior. A Russian
count in a New York drawing room, then, when counts were few, could not
have seemed more foreign than this man in that village parlor, less than
two miles from the place of his birth.

He was the son of the old revolutionary soldier, with the unpronouncable
name, who lived in the beautiful valley. This I knew at once, but did
not, for some time, realize that it was he who rescued us from the black
waters on that dark night, carried us to safety and light, and left us
again in darkness. This incident, so much to me, he never could
distinguish among the many times he had "helped Olever and his seminary
girls out of scrapes," and he never spoke of these adventures without
that same laugh which I noticed when Father Olever thanked him.

He had elected me as his wife some years before this evening, and had
not kept it secret; had been assured his choice was presumptuous, but
came and took possession of his prospective property with the air of a
man who understood his business. I next saw him on horseback, and this
man of giant strength in full suit of black, riding a large spirited
black horse, became my "black knight."

My sister hated him, and my mother doubted him, or rather doubted the
propriety of my receiving visits from him. His family were the leading
Methodists of the township; his father had donated land and built a
meeting-house, which took his name, and his house was the headquarters
of traveling preachers. There was a camp-meeting ground on the farm; his
mother "lived without sin," prayed aloud and shouted in meeting, while
the income and energy of the family were expended in propagating a faith
which we believed false. A marriage with him would be incongruous and
bring misery to both. These objections he overruled, by saying he was
not a member of any church, would never interfere with my rights of
conscience, would take or send me to my meeting when possible, and
expect me to go sometimes with him. He proposed going up the Allegheny
to establish saw-mills, and if I would go into the woods with him, there
should be no trouble