return. I am not
afraid of the darkness. I am not afraid of the lonely woods. I only fear
leaving you alone with her."

"Go," said my mother, in a faint voice. "God will protect you. I feel
that He will, my good, brave Gabriella."

I kissed her white cheek with passionate tenderness, cast a glance of
anguish on Peggy's fearfully altered face, then ran out into the chill,
dark midnight. At first I could scarcely discern the sandy path I had so
often trodden, for no moon lighted up the gloom of the hour, and even
the stars glimmered faintly through a grey and cloudy atmosphere. As I
hurried along, the wind came sighing through the trees with such
inexpressible sadness, it seemed whispering mournfully of the dark
secrets of nature. Then it deepened into a dull, roaring sound, like the
murmurs of the ocean tide; but even as I went on the melancholy wind
pursued me like an invisible spirit, winding around me its chill,
embracing arms.

I seemed the only living thing in the cold, illimitable night. A thick
horror brooded over me. The sky was a mighty pall, sweeping down with
heavy cloud-fringes, the earth a wide grave. I did not fear, that is, I
feared not man, or beast or ghost, but an unspeakable awe and dread was
upon me. I dreaded the great God, whose presence filled with
insupportable grandeur the lonely night. My heart was hard as granite.
_I_ could not have prayed, had I known that Peggy's life would be given
in answer to my prayer. I could not say, "Our Father, who art in
heaven," as I had so often done at my mother's knee, in the sweet,
childlike spirit of filial love and submission. My Father's face was
hidden, and behind the thick clouds of darkness I saw a stern,
vindictive Being, to whom the smoke of human suffering was more
acceptable than frankincense and myrrh.

I compared myself wandering alone in darkness and sorrow, on such an
awful errand, to the fair, smiling being cradled in wealth, then
doubtless sleeping in her bed of down, watched by attending menials. Oh!
rebel that I was, did I not need the chastening discipline, never
exerted but in wisdom and in love?

Before I knew it, I was at Dr. Harlowe's door. All was dark and still.
The house was of brick, and it loomed up gloriously as I approached. It
seemed to frown repulsively with its beetling eaves, as I lifted the
knocker and let it fall with startling force. In a moment I heard
footsteps moving and saw a light glimmering through the blinds. He