Miss Haredale, whose feelings were usually of a quieter kind than
Dolly's, and not so much upon the surface, was dreadfully alarmed, and
indeed had only just recovered from a swoon. She was very pale, and the
hand which Dolly held was quite cold; but she bade her, nevertheless,
remember that, under Providence, much must depend upon their own
discretion; that if they remained quiet and lulled the vigilance of the
ruffians into whose hands they had fallen, the chances of their being
able to procure assistance when they reached the town, were very much
increased; that unless society were quite unhinged, a hot pursuit must
be immediately commenced; and that her uncle, she might be sure, would
never rest until he had found them out and rescued them. But as she said
these latter words, the idea that he had fallen in a general massacre of
the Catholics that night--no very wild or improbable supposition after
what they had seen and undergone--struck her dumb; and, lost in the
horrors they had witnessed, and those they might be yet reserved for,
she sat incapable of thought, or speech, or outward show of grief: as
rigid, and almost as white and cold, as marble.
Oh, how many, many times, in that long ride, did Dolly think of her old
lover,--poor, fond, slighted Joe! How many, many times, did she recall
that night when she ran into his arms from the very man now projecting
his hateful gaze into the darkness where she sat, and leering through
the glass in monstrous admiration! And when she thought of Joe, and what
a brave fellow he was, and how he would have rode boldly up, and
dashed in among these villains now, yes, though they were double the
number--and here she clenched her little hand, and pressed her foot upon
the ground--the pride she felt for a moment in having won his heart,
faded in a burst of tears, and she sobbed more bitterly than ever.
Pages:
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785