But Margaret did not come that night, nor yet again the next.
When she left her mother’s house she hurried forward at a greater speed than her strength admitted, so great was her anxiety to elude pursuit. She had not gone half a mile when she found her strength failing her. Quite exhausted, she staggered to a flat stone by the side of the road, and sat down.
“Mother was right,” she said to herself; “I am not strong enough for this journey; but I must get on somehow now that I have started.”
At this moment her eye rested on the half dollar which she had taken, and which she still held in her hand.
“Perhaps this will procure me a ride,” she thought. “What matter if I am penniless afterwards. I only care to live long enough to be revenged.”
She looked back on the road she had travelled, hoping to see some wagon which might serve her purpose.
A little distance off was a covered market wagon, advancing at a good round pace. The driver was a stout, pleasant-looking man, and Margaret, hurriedly scanning his features, judged that she might venture to accost him.
She accordingly rose from the stone on which she had been sitting, and made a gesture for him to stop.
Somewhat surprised, he called out: “Hold up, Dick! Now, ma’am, what can I do for you?”
“Would you be willing to take a passenger to New York?”