Captain Abraham French loomed up on his big gray horse, a few paces
from her. He was Hannah's father, but he was a tithing-man, and
looked quite stern, and Ann had always stood in great fear of him.

She ran on as fast as her little heels could fly, with a thumping
heart. But it was not long before she felt herself seized by a strong
arm and swung up behind Captain French on the gray horse. She was in
a panic of terror, and would have cried and begged for mercy if she
had not been in so much awe of her captor. She thought with awful
apprehension of these stolen indentures in her little pocket. What if
he should find that out!

Captain French whipped up his horse, however, and hastened along
without saying a word. His silence, if anything, caused more dread in
Ann than words would have. But his mind was occupied. Deacon Thomas
Wales was dead; he was one of his most beloved and honored friends,
and it was a great shock to him. Hannah had told him about Ann's
premeditated escape, and he had set out on her track, as soon as he
had found that she was really gone, that morning. But the news, which
he had heard on his way, had driven all thoughts of reprimand which
he might have entertained, out of his head. He only cared to get the
child safely back.

So, not a word spoke Captain French, but rode on in grim and
sorrowful silence, with Ann clinging to him, till he reached her
master's door. Then he set her down with a stern and solemn
injunction never to transgress again, and rode away.

Ann went into the kitchen with a quaking heart. It was empty and
still. Its very emptiness and stillness seemed to reproach her. There