. The guests assembled in our dwelling,
and the pastor stood before the humble altar, raised for the occasion.
The walls were rude, but the bride in her young beauty might have graced
a palace. She leaned on Conrad's arm, according to our custom, as her
oldest unmarried relative. The tables were spread with the bridal cheer,
and the blazing fire crackled merrily on the wide hearth-stone. The
bridegroom's presence alone was waited for. Gaily hung with flags was
the ship, and cheers rung loudly from her crew as a boat left her side.
It came, but bore but the officers invited to the wedding. Where was De
Clairville? None knew! We had expected he passed the night on board; but
there he had not been. 'Twas most strange! The day passed away, and
others like it, and still he came not. He was gone for ever. Had he
proved false and forsaken his love? Such was the imputation thrown on
his absence by Conrad.

The sailors joined us; a band of Indian hunters led the way, and for
miles around the woods were searched, but trace of human footsteps, save
our own, we saw not. Long did the vessel's crew linger by the shore,
hoping each day for tidings of their loved commander's fate, but of him
they heard no more, and it was deemed he had met his death by drowning.

Conrad, whose morose manner suddenly disappeared for a bold and forward
tone, so utterly at variance from his usual that all were surprized,
still persisted in asserting that he had but proceeded along the coast,
and would join his vessel as she passed onward. One of the sailors, an
old and grey-haired man, who loved De Clairville as a son, indignantly
denied the charge. He was incapable of such an action. "God grant," said
he, "he may have been fairly dealt with." "You would not say he had been
murdered," said Conrad. "No," said the old man, "I thought not of that:
if he were, not a leaflet in your woods but would bear witness to the
crime."

We were standing then by the ruined church--a slender beech tree grew
beside it--one faded leaf yet hovered on its stem--for an instant it
trembled in the blast, then fell at Conrad's feet, brushing his cheek as
it passed. If the blow of a giant had struck him he could not have
fallen more heavily to the ground. An inward loathing, such as may
mortal man never feel to his fellow, forbade me to assist him. He had
fainted; but the cold air soon revived him, and he arose, complaining of
sudden illness. The sailors left us, and the ship sa