Guy Rivers: A Tale of GeorgiaSimms, William Gilmore
History
Guy Rivers: A Tale of Georgia
Simms, William Gilmore
Georgia -- History -- 1775-1865 -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction
They separated on the verge of the copse to which he had attended her,
their hands having all the way been passionately linked, and a seal
having been set upon their mutual vows by the long, loving embrace which
concluded their interview. The cottage was in sight, and, from the deep
shade which surrounded him, he beheld her enter its precincts in safety;
then, returning to the place of tryst, he led forth his steed, and, with
a single bound, was once more in his saddle, and once more a wanderer.
The cheerlessness of such a fate as that before him, even under the
changed aspect of his affairs, to those unaccustomed to the rather too
migratory habits of our southern and western people, would seem somewhat
severe; but the only hardship in his present fortune, to the mind of
Forrester, was the privation and protraction of his love-arrangements.
The wild, woodland adventure common to the habits of the people of this
class, had a stimulating effect upon his spirit at all other times; and,
even now--though perfectly legitimate for a lover to move slowly from
his mistress--the moon just rising above the trees, and his horse in
full gallop through their winding intricacies, a warm and bracing energy
came to his aid, and his heart grew cheery under its inspiriting
influences. He was full of the future, rich in anticipation, and happy
in the contemplation of a thousand projects. With a free rein he plunged
forward into the recesses of the forest, dreaming of a cottage in the
Mississippi, a heart at ease, and Katharine Allen, with all her
beauties, for ever at hand to keep it so.
CHAPTER XIX.
MIDNIGHT SURPRISE.
The night began to wane, and still did Lucy Munro keep lonely vigil in
her chamber. How could she sleep? Threatened with a connection so
dreadful as to her mind was that proposed with Guy Rivers--deeply
interested as she now felt herself in the fortunes of the young
stranger, for whose fate and safety, knowing the unfavorable position in
which he stood with the outlaws, she had everything to apprehend--it can
cause no wonder when we say sleep grew a stranger to her eyes, and
without retiring to her couch, though extinguishing her light, she sat
musing by the window of her chamber upon the thousand conflicting and
sad thoughts that were at strife in her spirit. She had not been long in
this position when the sound of approaching horsemen reached her ears,
and after a brief interval, during which she could perceive that they
had alighted, she heard the door of the hall gently unclosed, and
footsteps, set down with nice caution, moving through the passage. A
light danced for a moment fitfully along the chamber, as if borne from
the sleeping apartment of Munro to that adjoining the hall in which the
family were accustomed to pursue their domestic avocations. Then came an
occasional murmur of speech to her ears, and then silence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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