and tranquilly on the moist meadows, came forth at
times a solitary twitter, as though the lark had alighted softly and
joyously on her nest. The glow and the brightness of evening were gone
when Marian passed the threshold of her home, uncertain yet as to the
fate of Egerton and the course she should pursue. She allayed, as well
as she was able, the fretfulness and impatience of Chisenhall,
entreating that he would remain quiet until the morrow, after which it
was possible that something would transpire with regard to his friend.
The irresistible conclusion, that by venturing forth he would
compromise the safety of all parties, alone rendered him tractable,
and prevented the consequences of any rash exposure.

Too much occupied in resolves and plans for to-morrow's enterprise,
the maiden on retiring to her chamber felt no inclination for repose,
and her little couch was left vacant. It was a low room within the
thatch, into which a narrow window, projecting from the roof, admitted
the clear mellow radiance of the moon, now shining uninterruptedly
from above. So lovely and inviting was the aspect of the night, that,
after a long and anxious train of thought, she resolved to enjoy the
calm and delicious atmosphere, free and unconfined, hoping to feel its
invigorating effects upon her exhausted spirits.

It might be within a short half-hour of midnight when she tripped
lightly down the stairs, and was soon across the stile which led to
the deserted chapel of Windleshaw. Attracted by the beauty and the
reviving freshness of all around her, fearing no evil and conscious of
no alarm, she proceeded, wandering without aim or purpose into the
quiet cemetery.

In the dark shadow of the building she walked on, fearless and alone.
Her bosom had been hitherto the abode of happiness and peace. To the
stranger's appearance might be attributed the source of her present
disquiet. She would have breathed after communion with heavenly
things, but earthly objects mingled in her aspirations; charity,
peradventure, for those of another creed, and anxiety for another's
fate. But she was not satisfied that this was the sole cause of her
unhappiness; and the pang of separation, too, came like a barbed arrow
into her soul. She felt alarmed, amazed at the sudden change. She
feared that her weak and wandering heart was going back to the world,
and resting for support on its frail and perishing interests. Tossed
and buffeted with temptation, sh