On and on they journeyed through the afternoon; deeper and deeper they descended into the forest as the sun declined in the west. When it was on the edge of the horizon, striking long golden lines through the interstices of the woods, Hannah grew rather anxious, and she spoke up: "It seems to me, Reuben, that we have come ten miles since we saw a house or a farm." "Yes, my dear. We are now in the midst of the old forest of Prince George's, and our home is yet about five miles off. But don't be afraid, Hannah, woman; you have got me with you, and we will get home before midnight." "I am only thinking of the runaway negroes, Reuben; they all take refuge in these thick woods, you know; and they are a very desperate gang; their hands against everybody and everybody's hands against them, you may say." "True, Hannah; they are desperate enough, for they have everything to fear and nothing to hope, in a meeting with most of the whites; but there is no danger to us, child." "I don't know; they murdered a harmless peddler last winter, and attacked a peaceable teamster this spring." "Still, my dear, there is no danger; we have a pair of double-barreled pistols loaded, and also a blunderbuss; and we are three men, and you are as good as a fourth; so don't be afraid." Hannah was silenced, if not reassured. They journeyed on at a rate as fast as the rather tired horses could be urged to make. When the sun had set it grew dark, very dark in the forest. There was no moon; and although it was a clear, starlight night, yet that did not help them much. They had to drive very slowly and carefully to avoid accidents, and it was indeed midnight when they drove up to the door of Hannah's new home. It was too dark to see more of it than that it was a two-storied white cottage with a vine-clad porch, and that it stood in a garden on the edge of the wood. CHAPTER XXXVII. THE NEW HOME. It is a quiet picture of delight, The humble cottage, hiding from the sun In the thick woods. You see it not till then, When at its porch. Rudely, but neatly wrought, Four columns make its entrance; slender shafts, The rough bark yet upon them, as they came From the old forest. Prolific vines Have wreathed them well and half obscured the rinds Original, that wrap them. Crowding leaves Or glistening green, and clustering bright flowers Of purple, in whose cups, throughout the day, The humming bird wantons boldly, wave around And woo the gentle eye and delicate touch. This is the dwelling, and 'twill be to them Quiet's especial temple. --_W.G. Simms_.