The Squire would have proven a most ardent suitor had Sally consented, but she would have none of it. He hovered about the toll house, with the persistency of a youthful swain, fired by his first grand passion; but the bride elect very promptly sent him about his business, whenever he came spooning around, and curtly announced that she was busy getting ready to marry him, and, therefore, had no time for sentimental dallying. If, notwithstanding these repeated rebuffs, he chose to linger, it fell to Mrs. Brown to entertain him, which she generally did by finding excuses for Sally's brusque manners and strange words. "Skittish colts make the tamest ones in harness," said she. "When they're properly broke," thought the Squire, with a quiet chuckle of satisfaction. On the evening before the wedding the prospective groom presented himself at the New Pike Gate. His efforts at rejuvenation, in dress and manner, would have struck Sally as comically grotesque but for the part she was to play in the tragic comedy. "I thought I'd drop in to see if there's anything you wished done before to-morrow," said he, in a half apologetic way, as he readily interpreted the look on Sally's face to mean disapproval of his presence. The girl's heart gave a sudden leap of terror. To-morrow! Was it possible that her marriage was this near? She had tried to put away the thought of it, day by day, as if this could lengthen time, or stay the unhappy event, and now the hour was almost at hand. She might no longer forget, or put the fact aside. The shadow of its actual presence overshadowed her and chilled her very heart. A wild impulse flooded her brain, like a tidal wave from the sea of her despair. She would appeal to the Squire for a release from her promise--humbly petition his better self to spare her the misery of a marriage, loveless at least on her part. It could only bring sorrow to her, and doubtless unhappiness to him; since he could not wish to wed a wife, who brought him no love, and only deep aversion. Yes, she would appeal to him--it was the one final hope left her. He must not, could not refuse to release her after such a confession. When at last he started to go, the girl quickly caught up her hat, and said, "I will ride with you along the road a little way." "And after to-morrow, it will be all the way in life together, eh?" asked the old man jocosely, chucking her under the chin with one of his clumsy fingers. She instinctively shrank from his touch, but followed him into the night. Without, the elements seemed as foreboding as the girl's own unhappy thoughts. An ominous sky brooded in gloom. In the north a huge pile of clouds, sullen and heavy, lay banked high above the horizon, threatening hills of blackness that seemed to hem in her little world of woe. Gusts of wind from time to time came sweeping by, boisterous heralds, precursors of threatening storm.