"But I won't be frightened or nervous," said Marion, resolutely. "Here, feel my hand; when Rachel was raving a moment ago, I could not keep it still; now it is as steady as yours. O Miss Christine, if you only knew, you would let me go."
"My dear child," said Miss Christine, laying her hand tenderly on Marion's cheek, "I do know, and if you really are courageous enough, you may go. It is no use for me to wake up any of the girls; there is not one of them that would dare go with you, I know."
"I'll go alone, Miss Christine, and I know nothing will happen to me."
Marion hurried back into her room, and dressed herself as quickly as possible, putting on her thickest cloak, furs, and a warm hood. Miss Christine stepped into the entry, and kissed her good-by, saying:—
"Don't be afraid, darling; you know nothing ever happens round here, and if you bring the doctor back with you it may be the means of saving Rachel's life."
Marion made no reply, except by a glance full of meaning, and went quietly downstairs, looking back as she reached the door, and nodding at Miss Christine, who stood at the head of the stairs, holding a candle; then she opened the door, and went out into the night alone.
There were two roads which led to the village. By the road proper, on which several residences bordered, the distance was about two miles; but there was a shorter one, called the bridge road, which led through several open fields, and crossed the B—— River, which was rarely frequented except by the school-girls and farmers on their way to and from market. This road kept a perfectly straight course to the village, and although far more lonely than the other, on that account Marion chose it.
It was a perfect night; clear and cold, very cold; but of that Marion thought nothing; she had braved New England winters all her life, and was almost as hardy as a backwoodsman. The moon was full, and shone down on as lovely a scene as one would wish to see; the trees with their delicate coating of ice glistened and gleamed in its beams, as though covered with myriads of jewels, and threw their fantastic shadows on the shining snow.
Marion hurried along the road, not giving herself time for fear, until she had left the school-house some distance behind her. At any other time she would have been wildly enthusiastic over the beauty of the night; but looking at the moon from a comfortable sleigh, snugly tucked up in buffalo robes, the stillness of the night broken by the jolly jingling of bells and the laughter of merry friends, is a very different thing from contemplating it on a lonely country road, no house in sight, with your loudly beating heart for your only companion, and the hour near midnight.
At least Marion found it so; and, brave as she was, she could not keep her heart from thumping against her side, or her hands from trembling nervously, as she clasped them inside of her muff. Every bush she passed took some fantastic shape, and as she strained her eyes before her to make it assume some rational form, it seemed to move stealthily as if about to spring upon her; the trees appeared to be stretching out their naked branches, like long arms with ghostly fingers to clutch her as she passed; now and then a twig, too heavily freighted with ice, would snap off and come crackling to the ground, the sudden noise making her heart stand still for an instant, only to start on again, beating more violently than before.