a tale passed from mouth to mouth, with the eagerness of powerful personal
interest, and many were already transmitted from parent to child, in the
form of tradition, until, as in more artificial communities, graver
improbabilities creep into the doubtful pages of history, exaggeration
became too closely blended with truth, ever again to be separated.

Under the influence of these feelings, and perhaps prompted by his
never-failing discretion, Content had thrown a well-tried piece over his
shoulder; and when he rose the ascent on which his father had met the
stranger, Ruth caught a glimpse of his form, bending on the neck of his
horse, and gliding through the misty light of the hour, resembling one of
those fancied images of wayward and hard-riding sprites, of which the
tales of the eastern continent are so fond of speaking.

Then followed anxious moments, during which neither sight nor hearing
could in the least aid the conjectures of the attentive wife. She listened
without breathing, and once or twice she thought the blows of hoofs,
falling on the earth harder and quicker than common, might be
distinguished; but it was only as Content mounted the sudden ascent of the
hill-side, that he was again seen, for a brief instant, while dashing
swiftly into the cover of the woods.

Though Ruth had been familiar with the cares of the frontier, perhaps she
had never known a moment more intensely painful than that, when the form
of her husband became blended with the dark trunks of the trees. The time
was to her impatience longer than usual, and under the excitement of a
feverish inquietude, that had no definite object, she removed the single
bolt that held the postern closed, and passed entirely without the
stockade To her oppressed senses, the palisadoes appeared to place limits
to her vision. Still, weary minute passed after minute, without bringing