"Will you see me safely through the woods, Thurston?"
He did not answer.
"Thurston, it is nearly dark—there are several runaway negroes in the forest now, and the road will not be safe for me."
"Good-night, then," she said.
"Good-night, Marian."
She turned away and ascended the steps with her heart filled nearly to bursting with grief, indignation and fear. That he should let her take that long, dark, dangerous walk alone! it was incredible! she could scarcely realize it, or believe it! Her unusually excited feelings lent wings to her feet, and she walked swiftly for about a quarter of a mile, and then was forced to pause and take breath. And then every feeling of indignation and fear was lost in that of sorrow, that she had wounded his feelings, and left him in anger. And Marian dropped her face into her open hands and wept. A step breaking through the brushwood made her start and tremble. She raised her head with the attitude of one prepared for a spring and flight. It was so dark she could scarcely see her hands before her, but as the step approached, a voice said:
"Fear nothing, Marian, I have not lost sight of you since you left me," and Thurston came up to her side.
With a glad smile of surprise Marian turned to greet him, holding out her hand, expecting him to draw it through his arm and lead her on. But no, he would not touch her hand. Lifting his hat slightly, he said:
"Go forward if you please to do so, Marian. I attend you."
Marian went on, and he followed closely. They proceeded in silence for some time. Now that she knew that he had not left her a moment alone in the woods, she felt more deeply grieved at having so mortified and offended him. At last she spoke: