in failure. It did not occur to her that the doubts of her own practical
nature were almost as dangerous and illogical as his enthusiasm, and
that for that reason she was fast losing what little influence she
possessed over him. With the example of her mother's weakness before her
eyes, she had become an unsparing and distrustful critic, with the sole
effect of awakening his distrust and withdrawing his confidence from
her.

He was beginning to deceive her as he had never deceived her mother.
Even Jessie knew more of this last enterprise than she did herself.

All that did not tend to decrease her utter restlessness. It was already
past midnight when she noticed that the wind had again abated. The
mountain breeze had by this time possessed the stifling valleys and
heated bars of the river in its strong, cold embraces; the equilibrium
of Nature was restored, and a shadowy mist rose from the hollow. A
stillness, more oppressive and intolerable than the previous commotion,
began to pervade the house and the surrounding woods. She could hear the
regular breathing of the sleepers; she even fancied she could detect the
faint impulses of the more distant life in the settlement. The far-off
barking of a dog, a lost shout, the indistinct murmur of some nearer
watercourse--mere phantoms of sound--made the silence more irritating.
With a sudden resolution she arose, dressed herself quietly and
completely, threw a heavy cloak over her head and shoulders, and opened
the door between the living-room and her own. Her father was sleeping
soundly in his bunk in the corner. She passed noiselessly through the
room, opened the lightly fastened door, and stepped out into the night.

In the irritation and disgust of her walk hither, she had never noticed
the situation of the cabin, as it nestled on the slope at the fringe of