“And when are we to start?” Clara asked.
“At once.”
The news was joyful to the maiden. She could scarcely refrain from clapping her hands and shouting with joy and thanks.
By this time it was nearly sunset, and ere the renegade and maiden had taken their departure from the village, the shadows of evening had begun to gather over the woodland, and lurk assassin-like in the valleys.
They set off on foot, following a plain-beaten path through the forest, southward.
The journey before her was a long one, but Clara was so overpowered with joy, that she had never taken one thought of her inability to ever reach the post on foot.
The two moved on in silence for about a mile or more, when Sherwood spoke.
“Clara,” he said, “have you any recollections of your early childhood?—that is, do you recollect any thing of your early home in Ohio?”
The maiden was not a little surprised by this strange question, and it was quite a while before she could gain composure to reply:
“Why should I not, when it has been but a few years since I left there?”