“Love! angel! how enchanting you are,” he exclaimed, catching her in his arms and pressing kisses on her cheek and lips and neck.

Glowing with color, Marian strove to release herself.  “Let me go—­let us leave this place, dear Thurston,” she pleaded, attempting to rise.

“Why?  Why are you in such a hurry?  Why do you wish to leave me?” he asked, without releasing his hold.

“It is late!  Dear Thurston, it is late,” she said, in vague alarm.

“That does not matter—­I am with you.”

“They will be anxious about me, pray let us go!  They will be so anxious!” she said, with increasing distress, trying to get away.  “Thurston!  Thurston!  You distress me beyond measure,” she exclaimed in great trouble.

But he stopped her breath with kisses.

Marian suddenly ceased to struggle, and by a strong effort of will she became perfectly calm.  And looking in his eyes, with her clear, steady gaze, she said: 

“Thurston, I have ceased to strive.  But if you are a man of honor, you will release me.”

His arms dropped from around her as if he had been struck dead.

Glad to be free, Marian arose to depart.  Thurston sat still—­his fine countenance overclouded with mortification and anger.  Marian hesitated; she knew not how to proceed.  He did not offer to rise and attend her.  At length she spoke.

“Will you see me safely through the woods, Thurston?”

He did not answer.

“Thurston, it is nearly dark—­there are several runaway negroes in the forest now, and the road will not be safe for me.”

“Good-night, then,” she said.

“Good-night, Marian.”

She turned away and ascended the steps with her heart filled nearly to bursting with grief, indignation and fear.  That he should let her take that long, dark, dangerous walk alone! it was incredible! she could scarcely realize it, or believe it!  Her unusually excited feelings lent wings to her feet, and she walked swiftly for about a quarter of a mile, and then was forced to pause and take breath.  And then every feeling of indignation and fear was lost in that of sorrow, that she had wounded his feelings, and left him in anger.  And Marian dropped her face into her open hands and wept.  A step breaking through the brushwood made her start and tremble.  She raised her head with the attitude of one prepared for a spring and flight.  It was so dark she could scarcely see her hands before her, but as the step approached, a voice said: 

“Fear nothing, Marian, I have not lost sight of you since you left me,” and Thurston came up to her side.

With a glad smile of surprise Marian turned to greet him, holding out her hand, expecting him to draw it through his arm and lead her on.  But no, he would not touch her hand.  Lifting his hat slightly, he said: 

“Go forward if you please to do so, Marian.  I attend you.”