"I think my father suspects my secret and reproaches himself for giving me so free access to Edgar's company. I would not wonder if the delay he has urged to my marriage were influenced as much by this sad knowledge as my mother's failing health. Col. Malcome gave a reluctant assent, at which I am surprised. When his sweet daughter is sinking slowly into the grave, 'tis strange he can think of any earthly interest.
"I have looked mournfully toward the cedar forest to-night, and thought of the poor lone hermit in his humble hut, and wished, O, how fervently wished! that I, like him, had a habitation afar from the world's hollow throngs, where I could sit and brood in solitude over my broken heart!
"Am I not a living, breathing, suffering example of the truth of Byron's eloquent words?
'The day drags on, though storms keep out the sun,
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.'"
Florence closed her journal, and approached the window.
As she was dropping the curtain to retire, a dark figure moving stealthily under the leafless branches of the lindens, which stood in rows on the least public side of the house, arrested her attention. The remembrance of a similar appearance she had once seen crossed her mind, and no ill having followed that, she dismissed her fears, and ere long sank to rest.
When the village clock pealed forth the hour of midnight, the dark figure she had observed, stood on the terrace below. The hall door swung noiselessly on its hinges, and Hannah Doliver stepped forth. "Here are the matches and kindling-wood," said she in a whisper, approaching the dusky form, and holding a small basket forward.
"Are they all asleep?" asked a hushed voice.
"Yes," answered she.