The wind had risen, and the sky was overcast, as Patty hurried towards home. The leaves went scurrying by with a hollow rustle, while all the air was full of those eerie noises which haunt its bosom on All-Hallowe'en. Shivering somewhat from excitement, and more from fatigue, the girl reached her gate. The wounded man had already given place in her mind to the remembrance of her interview with Tom Putnam. Now at last she felt that every thing was ended between them. Instead of going into the house, she crossed the garden towards the brook. Just above the bridge was a pool which the children used to call Black-Clear Eddy, from the singular blackness at once and transparency of the water. Standing beside this she dropped a stone into the pool to break the thin film of ice which was forming. Then she unfastened her cloak, and drew up from beneath the bosom of her dress a silk cord, to which was fastened a hoop of gold wire. It was her secret, known to no one but herself. Years before, Tom Putnam had twisted this ring carelessly from a bit of gold broken from his sister's bracelet, and had given it to Patty for a philopena. She held it a moment in her hand, and then dropped it through the hole in the ice. "There!" she said to herself, turning away. "That is done. I feel so much like a sensational story, that I am not sure I am not to be continued in our next. I should have done something tragic in throwing away that trumpery ring. A few lines from 'The Faithful Jewess' wouldn't have come in amiss:-- "'I raise my arms to you, ye starless skies, And cry for pity on my hapless lot. Ah, perjured one! Why hast thou left me lone?' "Goodness, how cold it is! Good-by, old ring! Some of the witches riding about to-night may fish you up, and wear you to their sabbath." She entered the silent house, and crept to her room, where she got quickly to bed, only to lie and toss with troubled thought, which would have ended in tears had she been of weaker mettle. She fell asleep at last: and from her mind, as from Pandora's box, slipped every thing but hope; so that she dreamed she was betrothed to Tom Putnam with the very ring she had dropped into Black-Clear Eddy. CHAPTER XXXVI. MRS. SMITHERS. Peter Mixon's unlucky and disreputable head had been pretty severely battered by his accident; and for several days he remained, as his wife lucidly said, "unsensible." This delirium had passed away, but Dr. Sanford had little hope of the patient's recovery. Bathalina hung over her husband's bed in an agony of late and needless remorse, lamenting that her "sinful pride" had come to this; although the connection was by no means apparent. She sang "Death-bed Reflections" so constantly, that at last Will Sanford threatened her with instant death if he heard another syllable of that doleful hymn. She labored with Peter in regard to his spiritual condition, continually begging him to let her read aloud from the Scriptures.