desire to get away from her husband,--to search for her child, to know
if it had lived or died. For four nights more that journey was pursued
at the height of their horse's speed; every day they stopped to rest,
and every day Hitty's half-delirious brain laid plans of escape, only to
be balked by Abner Dimock's vigilance; for if he slept, it was with both
arms round her, and the slightest stir awoke him,--and while he woke,
not one propitious moment freed her from his watch. Her brain began to
reel with disappointment and anguish; she began to hate her husband; a
band of iron seemed strained about her forehead, and a ringing sound
filled her ears; her lips grew parched, and her eye glittered; the last
night of their journey Abner Dimock lifted her into the wagon, and she
fainted on the hay.

"What in hell did you bring her for, Dimock?" growled his companion;
"women are d----d plagues always."

"She'll get up in a minute," coolly returned the husband; "can't afford
to leave a goose that lays golden eggs behind; hold on till I lift her
up. Here, Hitty! drink, I tell you! drink!"

A swallow of raw spirit certainly drove away the faintness, but it
brought fresh fire to the fever that burned in her veins, and she was
muttering in delirium before the end of that night's journey brought
them to a small village just above the old house on the river that
figured in the beginning of this history, and which we trust the patient
reader has not forgotten. Abner Dimock left his wife in charge of the
old woman who kept the hovel of a tavern where they stopped, and, giving
Ben the horse to dispose of to some safe purchaser, after he had driven
him down to the old house, returned at night in the boat that belonged
to his negro tenant, and, taking his unconscious wife from her bed,