A firm sweep of the whip followed—a plunge—a crash—and then over the broken boards and through the black storm, the carriage was swept away. Along the dark road it toiled, pelted with rain, half-overturned every instant by a sweep of the wind, that kept rising stronger and higher, till on every hand rose the black, gaunt shadow of many a darkened dwelling, and in their midst a single light gleamed like a star.
“They are up—they are waiting!” exclaimed Myra, with a burst of grateful joy, as she saw this light. “Now, my friend—my good, kind friend—you must go no farther; even they must not see you. Stop here; set my trunk on the walk; I will find the way myself, now!”
The man would have protested against this, but Myra was firm, and there in that wild storm she stood till the carriage was out of sight. Then she seized the trunk by the handle, and straining every nerve in her delicate frame by the effort, dragged it toward a window where she saw two fair, young, beautiful faces peering anxiously out, as if they were searching for some loved object in the darkness.
All at once those faces disappeared, a sound of glad welcome came toward the door, and the next instant Myra, panting with fatigue, white as death, and drenched through and through, till the rain dripped like a rivulet from her garments, was folded in the arms of those noble-hearted girls.
CHAPTER VII.
Like a bird in the air,
Like a boat on the sea,
Like a fawn from its lair,
The maiden must flee.
While Myra was exchanging her drenched garments, and partaking of those refreshments which her late and comfortless ride rendered so necessary, she related to her young friends the cause of this sudden abandonment of her home; and they, with all the warm enthusiasm and vivid romance of youth, entered into her feelings and plans. There was no sleep for any of the pretty group that night, but closeted in a little bedroom, with a bright fire flashing and glowing over their lovely and eager faces, the young girls plotted and held council together, sometimes laughing at the miserable plight in which Myra had presented herself at the door; sometimes listening with a start, as if amid the rush and pause of the storm, they yet feared to detect the tread of some person in pursuit of the beautiful fugitive.