A deep-drawn sigh, from the very bottom of his soul, admonished me that the speaker had finished his painful recital.
I had no desire to prolong the conversation. I saw that, silence would be more agreeable to my companion; and, as if by a mutual and tacit impulse, we turned our horses’ heads to the path, and proceeded onward across the glade.
As we were about entering the timber on the other side, my guide reined up his horse; and sat for a moment gazing upon a particular spot—as if something there had attracted his attention.
What? There was no visible object—at least, none that was remarkable—on the ground, or elsewhere!
Another sigh, with the speech that followed, explained the singularity of his behaviour, “Thar!” said he, pointing to the entrance of the forest-path—“thar’s the place whar I last looked on Marian!”
Chapter Sixteen.
A Predicament in Prospect.
For half a mile beyond the glade, the trace continued wide enough to admit of our riding abreast; but, notwithstanding this advantage, no word passed between us. My guide had relapsed into his attitude of melancholy—deepened, no doubt, by the intelligence he had just received—and sat loosely in his saddle, his head drooping forward over his breast. Bitter thoughts within rendered him unconscious of what was passing without; and I felt that any effort I might make to soften the acerbity of his reflections would be idle.