ad undergone some change; looking each way, for a moment,
undecided, she finally walked rapidly to the north, until she came to
a path leading to the left, which she entered, with a sense of relief,
and hurried forward.

It was quite dark, silent, and gloomy in the woods, and she sped
on--on past huge trees, through open glades, down through little
sinks and swales, and up on high ground, until she came to an opening.
"Thank God! thank God!" cried the relieved and grateful child; "I am
out at last. How glad I am!" And she reached the margin of the woods,
to be confronted with an interminable black jungle of fallen and
decaying tree-trunks, limbs and thick standing brush, over which, and
out of which, stood the dense tops of young trees. She paused for
a moment, and turning to the left, thought to skirt about this
obstruction, until she should reach the fence and field, which she
was sure were now near her. On and on, and still on she went; over the
trunks of fallen trees, through tangles of brush and pools of water,
until, when she turned to look for the opening, she was alarmed and
dismayed to find that it had disappeared. Her heart now for the first
time sank within her. She listened, but no sound, save the ominous
moan in the air, came to her ear. The solemn, still, black night was
all about her. She looked up, and a cold, starless, dim blank was
all over her; and all around, standing thick, were cold, dark, silent
trees. She stood and tried to think back: where was she, and how
came she there? She knew she had once turned back, from something to
somewhere--to the old road, as she remembered; and it flashed across
her, that in the strange appearance of things, and in her confusion,
she had crossed it, and was in the awful, endless woods! How far had
she gone? If lost, had she wandered round and round, as lost folks do?
Then she thought of her dear, distracted mother, and of her brave
and kind father. She had been missed, and they were looking for her.
Everybody would hear of it, and would join in the hunt; and Barton
might hear of it, and if he did, she knew he would come to find her.
He was generous and heroic; and what a wonder and a talk it would all
make, and she didn't care if it did. Then she wondered if she had not
better stop and stand still, for fear she would go wrong. How awfully
dark it was, and the air was chilly. Did she really know which way
home was? And she strained her unseeing eyes intently for a m