"Some time this forenoon."

William groaned.

The horse was nearly harnessed when Tommy Ray came running out from
the store, and beckoned to Barney. "Rose says she see her going up
the turnpike this morning," he said, in a low voice. "She was up in
her chamber that looks over the turnpike, and she see somebody goin'
up the turnpike. She thought it looked like Rebecca, but she supposed
it must be Mis' Jim Sloane. It must have been Rebecca."

"What time was it?" William asked, thrusting his white face between
them. The boy turned aside with a gesture of contempt and dislike.
"About half-past ten," he answered, shortly. Then he turned on his
heel and went back to the store. Rose was peering around the
half-open door with a white, shocked face. Somehow she had fathomed
the cause of the excitement.

"We'll go up the turnpike, then," said Barney. William nodded. The
two men sprang into the cutter, and the snow flew in their faces from
the horse's hoofs as they went out the barn door.

The old tavern stood facing the old turnpike road to Boston, but the
store and barn faced on the new road at its back, and people
generally approached the tavern by that way.

William and Barney had to drive down the hill; then turn the corner,
and up the hill again on the old turnpike.

There was not a house on that road for a full mile. William urged the
horse as fast as he could through the fresh snow. Both men kept a
sharp lookout at the sides of the road. The sun was out now, and the
snow was blinding white; the north wind drove a glittering spray as
sharp and stinging as diamond-dust in their faces.

Once William cried out, with a dry sob, "My God, she'll freeze in
this wind, if she's out in it!"

And Barney answered, "Maybe it would be better for her if she did."

William looked at him for the first time since they started. "See
here, Barney," he said, "God knows it's not to shield myself--I'm
past that; but I've begged her all summer to be married. I've been
down on my knees to her to be married before it came to this."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"I don't know, oh, I don't know! The poor girl was near distracted.
Her mother forbade her to marry me, and held up her Aunt Rebecca, who
married against her parents' wishes and hung herself, before her, all
the time. Your trouble with Charlotte Barnard brought it all about.
Her mother never opposed it before. I begged her to marry me, but she
was afraid, or something, I don't know