n had risen, and over the night had
thrown a veil of silvery gauze,) Arthur's excited spirit subsided into
peace, beneath its pale, celestial glory. Mittie thought of the
fugitive, and shrunk from the beams that might betray his flight. The
sudden barking of the watch-dog made her tremble. Even their own shadows
on the white, frozen ground, she mistook for the avengers of crime, in
the act of pursuit.

"What shall we do?" said Arthur, when, having arrived at Mr. Gleason's
door, they found it fastened. "I wish you could enter unobserved."

Mittie's solitary habits made her departure easy, and her absence
unsuspected, but she could not steal in through the bolts and locks that
impeded her admission.

"No matter," she cried, "leave me here--I will lie down by the
threshold, and wait the morning. All places are alike to me."

Louis, whose chamber was opposite to Mittie's, in the front part of the
house, and who now had many a sleepless night, heard voices in the
portico, and opening the window, demanded "who was there?"

"Come down softly and open the door," said Arthur, "I wish to speak to
you."

Louis hastily descended, and unlocked the door.

His astonishment, on seeing his sister with Arthur Hazleton, at that
hour, when he supposed her in her own room, was so great that he held
the door in his hand, without speaking or offering to admit them.

"Let us in as noiselessly as possible," said Arthur. "Take her directly
to her chamber, kindle a fire, give her a generous glass of Port wine,
and question her not to-night. Let no servant be roused. Wait upon her
yourself, and be silent on the morrow. Good-night."

"It is too bright," whispered she, as Louis half carried her up stairs,
stepping over the checker-work the moon made on the carpet.

"What is too bright, Mittie?"

"Nothing. Make haste--I am very cold."

Louis led Mittie to a chair, then lighting a candle, he knelt down and
gathered together the still smoking brands. A bright fire soon blazed on
the hearth, and illuminated the apartment.

"Now for the wine," said he.

"He is gone, Louis," said she, laying her hand on his arm. "He is fled.
I released him. Was it not noble in me, when he loves Helen, and he a
thief, too?"

Louis thought she spoke very strangely, and he looked earnestly at her
glittering eyes.

"I am glad of it!" he exclaimed--"he is a villain, but I am glad he is
escaped. But you, Mittie--you should not have done this. How could you