"Irene," he said, in his low, deep, passionate tones, "you cannot say the words that will send me from you. My life is in danger here. Every moment that I stand by your side, holding your little, trembling hand in mine, increases my danger. We must go. I will never again leave you till you are my wife." "Oh, heavens, Oleah! What is it that you mean?" "I shall take you to my camp, and our chaplain shall marry us. Come, we have no time to lose." "Oleah!" she cried, in such a tone, so firm and sharp, that he paused involuntarily. "Think what it is you would have me do. Think of the disgrace, the anxiety, the suffering, you would cause!" "There cannot be disgrace for you, when your husband is by your side; and, as to the anxiety of my parents, theirs can be no greater than mine has been. My father cares not how much misery I and mine may undergo; need I care if a few gray hairs are added to his head? My love, my darling, listen! That old Yankee hunter, Dan Martin, is in the woods, his rifle is certain death five hundred yards away; and every moment I stand here, I do so at the peril of my life." "Then, dear Oleah, go! Leave me, and go!" "I came for you and I will not go alone." "I can not, can not--" He seized her in his arms and attempted to place her on his horse. "Oh, let me go!" she cried. "I don't love you, no, not even as a sister! Now, let me go!" Oleah uttered a sharp whistle and four horsemen, dressed in gray, galloped to his side and dismounted. "Help me," said Oleah, briefly. The next moment Irene was on the charger, her determined lover holding her before him. They dashed through the dark woods like the wind, the four cavalrymen following closely after. Irene resisted and implored in vain. From the moment his strong arms closed round her, Oleah had spoken no word except to urge on his horse. Then she uttered shriek after shriek, which only died out in the great forest as the little cavalcade thundered on. Mr. Tompkins was still sitting in his rustic seat, beneath his favorite maple, as the sun sank behind the Western hills. He was thinking, and his clouded brow told that his thoughts were far from pleasant. For twenty-five years he and his wife had lived together, and never before had the lightest word or deed disturbed their perfect harmony, but now the breach, that had divided brothers, yawned between husband and wife; he must either sacrifice his principles or lose the love of his wife. The sun had set, and the planter felt the chill of the evening air. He rose with a sigh and was turning to go toward the house, when he observed a negro, hatless and breathless, running in at the front gate. "What is the matter, Job?" he asked, as the black paused breathless in front of his master. "Why, marster--oh! it am too awful to tell all at once, unless you are prepared for it," said the darkey. "What is it? I am prepared for anything. Tell me, what is the matter?" demanded the planter.