e, something of
my late superstition still lingered.

"Who is she?" I wondered; "Who is she? How did she happen to wait for
me here? Is it my Lady of the Ice? Am I a haunted man? Will she always
thus come to me in the storm, and leave me when the storm is over?
Where am I going? Whither is she leading me? Is she taking me back to
the dark river from which I saved her?"

Then I struggled against the superstitious fancy, and rallied and tried
to think calmly about it.

"Yes. It's Nora," I thought; "it's herself. She loves me. This was the
cause of her distress. And that distress has overmastered her. She has
been unable to endure my departure. She has been convinced that I would
return, and hag waited for me.

"Nora! Yes, Nora! Nora! But, Nora! what is this that I am doing? This
Nora can never be mine. She belongs to another. She was mine only
through my mistake. How can she hope to be mine, or how can I hope to
be hers? And why is it that I can dare thus to take her to ruin? Can I
have the heart to?"

I paused involuntarily, as the full horror of this idea burst upon me.
For, divested of all sentiment, the bald idea that burst upon my
whirling brain was simply this, that I was running away with the wife
of another man, and that man the very one who had lately given me his
hospitality, and called me his friend. And even so whirling a brain as
mine then was, could not avoid being penetrated by an idea that was so
shocking to every sentiment of honor, and loyalty, and chivalry, and
duty.

But as I paused, my companion forced me on. She had not said a single
word. Her head was bent down to meet the storm. She walked like one
bent on some desperate purpose, and that purpose was manifestly too
strong and too absorbing to be checked by any thing so feeble as my
fitful and uncertain irresolution. She walked on like some fate that
had gained possession of me. I surrendered to the power that thus held
me. I ceased even to think of pausing.

At length we came to where there was a large house with lights
streaming from all the windows. It was Colonel Berton's--I knew it
well. A ball had been going on, and the guests were departing. Down
came the sleighs as they carried off the guests, the jangle of the
bells Bounding shrilly in the stormy night. Thus far in my wanderings
all had been still, and this sudden noise produced a startling effect.

One sleigh was still at the door, and as we approached nearer we could
see that n