"And the lady—this house—the woman at her spinning-wheel, who brought herb tea to my bed. That lady—me, good friend, for I remember all—how fares the lady?"
"She is safe—thanks to a merciful Providence—and sleeping profoundly in the next room, at least such was the report of Goody Brown, in the kitchen yonder, ten minutes ago. She must not be disturbed. I had not broken in upon your sleep, either, but the sun is up, and perchance there is some one in town who may be grieved at your absence. You must have friends, and I would cheerfully bear them tidings of your safety."
"Friends!" cried the youth, starting up. "Indeed, there is one who will have wept her eyes out by this time. I pray you, sir, hand me such garments as the storm has left. We must start together for the town."
"Willingly," answered the minister, bringing the desired garments in from the kitchen fire. "But put on your garments in haste, for the morning wears; meanwhile I will speak a word with our host."
Half an hour after, the minister and his young friend quitted the farm-house, leaving the woman they had saved in the deep slumber of exhaustion.
CHAPTER III.
THE MINISTER.
Norman Lovel and the old minister walked on toward the town in company. The earth was still wet and heavy after the storm, and a sullen moan came up from the depths of the far-off ocean, which filled the bright morning as with a wail of sorrow.
But the old man was strong, and the youth full of that elasticity which springs more from the soul than the body. If either of them felt any evil effect from the storm, the vigorous speed at which they walked bore no evidence of it.