om the windows in
sight of which she would have to pass, and that a glimpse of this boat
stealing along at so late an hour might give the clue to the secret of
her disappearance, with which the whole region was to be busied in the
course of the next day.

Presently she came abreast of The Poplars. The house lay so still, so
peaceful,--it would wake to such dismay! The boat slid along beneath her
own overhanging chamber.

"No song to-morrow from the Fire-hang-bird's Nest!" she said. So she
floated by the slumbering village, the flow of the river carrying her
steadily on, and the careful strokes of the oars adding swiftness to her
flight.

At last she came to the "Broad Meadows," and knew that she was alone,
and felt confident that she had got away unseen. There was nothing,
absolutely nothing, to point out which way she had gone. Her boat came
from nobody knew where, her disguise had been got together at different
times in such a manner as to lead to no suspicion, and not a human being
ever had the slightest hint that she had planned and meant to carry out
the enterprise which she had now so fortunately begun.

Not till the last straggling house had been long past, not till the
meadows were stretched out behind her as well as before her, spreading
far off into the distance on each side, did she give way to the sense of
wild exultation which was coming fast over her. But then, at last,
she drew a long, long breath, and, standing up in the boat, looked all
around her. The stars were shining over her head and deep down beneath
her. The cool wind came fresh upon her cheek over the long grassy
reaches. No living thing moved in all the wide level circle which lay
about her. She had passed the Red Sea, and was alone in the Desert.

She threw down her oars, lifted her hands like a priestess, and her
strong, sweet voice burst into song,--the song of the Jewish maiden when
she went out before the chorus of, women and sang that grand solo, which
we all remember in its ancient words, and in their modern paraphrase,

"Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
Jehovah hath triumphed, his people are free!"

The poor child's repertory was limited to songs of the religious sort
mainly, but there was a choice among these. Her aunt's favorites, beside
"China," already mentioned, were "Bangor," which the worthy old New
England clergyman so admired that he actually had the down-east city
called after it, and "Windsor," a