thought she
heard the patter of small feet. A squirrel, perhaps, or, horrible to think
of, it might be a rat. She was sure rats would eat straw beds, and her
first impulse was to wake Mr. Archibald; but she hesitated, he was
sleeping so soundly. Still she listened, and now she became almost certain
that what she heard was not the patter of small feet; it sounded more like
something soft which was dragging itself over the floor--possibly a snake.
This idea was simply awful, and she sat up in bed. Still she did not call
Mr. Archibald, for should he suddenly spring on the floor, he would be in
more danger from the snake than she was.

She listened and she listened, but she heard nothing more, and then her
reason began to assure her that a snake's movements on a bare floor would
be absolutely noiseless; but in a moment all thoughts of serpents were
driven from her head. Outside of the cabin she heard a sound that could be
nothing less than the footsteps of some living creature--a wild beast,
perhaps a panther. The door was shut and fastened, but the window was
open. To call Mr. Archibald and tell him a wild beast was walking outside
the house would be positively wicked. Half-awakened, he would probably
rush out of the door to see what it was. What could she do? For an instant
she thought of lighting a candle and standing it in the window. She knew
that wild beasts were afraid of fire, and she did not believe that even a
panther would dare jump over a lighted candle. But if she struck a match
and got up, she would waken her husband; and, besides, if the wind, of
which she could feel a puff every now and then, did not blow out the
candle, it might blow it over and set fire to the cabin.

She heard the footsteps no more, and lay down again, but not to sleep. The
wind seemed to be rising, and made a wild, unearthly sound as it surged
through the trees which surrounded and imprisoned her, and shut her out
from the world in which she was born and in which she ought to live. There
was a far-away sound which came to her ears once, twice, thrice, and which
might have been the call of some ghostly bird or the war-whoop of an
Indian. At last she drew the covering over her head, determined that, so
long as she could not see, she would not hear.

"A wedding-journey!" she said to herself, and the idea, coupled with the
sense of her present grewsome and doleful condition, was so truly absurd
and ridiculous that she could not restrain a