As they lingered over the closing cup of coffee, Alice related the circumstance which had probably saved her life. It seemed she could not endure to dwell upon the terror of her flight in that wild maniac's arms, passing it over as briefly as possible. "When I had given up all hope of rescue, and felt as if actually dying, from the terror of my situation, my abductor suddenly paused, before what seemed to be a small ledge of rock, such as frequently juts out of the ground in these woods, especially near the river. Pushing aside a vine which trailed thickly before it, he thrust me into the mouth of a cave, but instead of following me in, as I expected, he drew the vine carefully over it again, and sprung away, singing,-- "'I'll hide the maid in a cypress-tree, When the footstep of death is near.' "The feeling of exquisite relief which came to me in that moment was quickly superseded by the thought of his speedy return. While I stood there, trembling, waiting for him to get out of sight and hearing, in the hope that I might creep out and elude him, I heard the roar of the approaching tempest. Peering through the foliage, I felt my rocky shelter tremble, and saw the forest fall prostrate. As soon as the first shock was over, I crept out, thinking nothing but of the destruction of my friends. Too distracted to feel any personal fear, I wandered through the storm, I knew not how many hours, until, by the merest chance, a flash of lightning revealed Philip, not four feet away from me." "The first thing you did, I suppose, was to give him a curtain-lecture, for staying out nights," remarked Mr. Raymond. "And now, dear father, I think the roof blew off, and the house blew to pieces almost, and your arm was broken, on purpose to convince you of the necessity of spending your winter with us. It would be foolish to try to make this comfortable again, this fall. Your men can put a roof on, to protect it from the weather, and we'll leave it to its fate." "Since he's disabled and can't defend himself, we'll take him captive," said Philip. "Have it as you like, children, I expect to be led around by apron-strings after this. Next spring, I'll take Virginia, and come back here, and will put up the handsomest mansion that ever graced this river-side--it shall be large enough to accommodate the whole family, present and prospective. _You_ needn't color up, little girl,--I was only thinking of Virginia's future spouse--eh, Virginia,--what's Mr. Irving blushing for?" "I don't know--men should never blush--it's a weakness." "I wish I could be as unmoved as you," he whispered in her ear, for he sat by her side. "It would be more becoming to me than it is to you. Women were made to blush and tremble." "_Were_ they, Mr. Irving, then you'd better leave those things to them, and not be intruding upon their sphere." "Perhaps I shall obey you, Miss Moore," he said, recovering all his coolness.