the company of the officers who loitered about the door in
idle discourse with her father. She accordingly left her room, and, with
an anxious and troubled heart, went out and seated herself quietly on
the steps of the porch, where she remained for some time a silent but
inattentive listener to the conversation of those around her.

As a part of that system of things by which it is contrived that the
current of true love shall never run smooth, I have ever found that when
it was peculiarly fitting that some grandam, uncle, cousin, father, or
guest, should retire early to bed, in order that some scheme of interest
to young lovers might be successfully achieved; precisely on such nights
is the perversity of fate most conspicuous, in inclining the minds of
such grandam, uncle, cousin, and so forth, to sit up much longer than
they are wont; thus showing that the grooves and dovetails of things in
this world are not nicely fitted to the occasions of those who deal in
the tender passion. And so it befel for poor Mary Musgrove this night.

The hour was now fast verging upon eleven, and she anxiously noted every
sentence that was spoken, hoping it was to be the last; and then she
trembled to think that John, regardless of the danger, might be lurking
near, and indiscreetly expose himself. And still the talkers discoursed
as if they meant to sit up all night. It was a delicious, cool hour,
after a sultry day, and there was luxury in the breeze; but as the
minutes were counted over by the maiden, in their slow passage, her
fears increased. At length, far off, as if it were a mile away, the
clear notes of one whistling an old tune were heard. Mary involuntarily
started from her seat, and moved along the little pathway towards the
gate, her heart beating against her bosom as if it would have
"overbourne its continents." The signal notes freshened upon the air,
and the tune came forth blithely and boldly, showing that the wayfarer
was trudging, with a light heart, down the main road towards the mill.
The party in the porch, however, were too much engrossed in their
colloquy to notice the incident. The whistling came still nearer, until,
at last, it seemed to be scarce a gunshot from the house. Beyond this
point it did not advance; but here indicated that the person from whom
it proceeded had halted. If Mary's cheek could have been brought to the
light, it would have shown how the blood had deserted it from very fear:
her whole fram