sensation which had quickened the blood through their veins was
already succeeded by the deadening influence of an approaching
northwester.

All of the party were now busily engaged in making the best of their
way to the village, though the badness of the roads frequently
compelled them to check the impatience of their animals, which often
carried them over places that would not admit of any gait faster than
a walk.

Richard continued in advance, followed by Mr. Le Quoi; next to whom
rode Elizabeth, who seemed to have imbibed the distance which pervaded
the manner of young Edwards since the termination of the discourse
between the latter and her father. Marmaduke followed his daughter,
giving her frequent and tender warnings as to the management of her
horse. It was, possibly, the evident dependence that Louisa Grant
placed on his assistance which induced the youth to continue by her
side, as they pursued their way through a dreary and dark wood, where
the rays of the sun could but rarely penetrate, and where even the
daylight was obscured and rendered gloomy by the deep forests that
surrounded them. No wind had yet reached the spot where the
equestrians were in motion, but that dead silence that often precedes
a storm contributed to render their situation more irksome than if
they were already subject to the fury of the tempest. Suddenly the
voice of young Edwards was heard shouting in those appalling tones
that carry alarm to the very soul, and which curdle the blood of those
that hear them.

“A tree! a tree! Whip—spur for your lives! a tree! a tree. “