The snow began to drift so fast, that before he had reached the head of the Glen, there was nothing to be seen but a little bit of the wooden rail of the bridge across the Sauch burn. William Grieve was the most active shepherd in a large pastoral parish--he had often passed the night among the wintery hills for the sake of a few sheep, and all the snow that had ever fell from Heaven, would not have made him turn back when Hannah Lee was before him; and as his terrified heart told him, in imminent danger of being lost.--As he advanced, he felt that it was no longer a walk of love or friendship, for which he had been glad of an excuse. Death stared him in the face, and his young soul, now beginning to feel all the passions of youth, was filled with phrenzy. He had seen Hannah every day--at the fire-side--at work--in the kirk--on holydays--at prayers--bringing supper to his aged parents--smiling and singing about the house from morning till night. She had often brought his own meal to him among the hills--and he now found, that though he had never talked to her about love, except smilingly, and playfully, that he loved her beyond father or mother, or his own soul. "I will save thee, Hannah," he cried with a loud sob, "or lie down beside thee in the snow--and we will die together in our youth." A wild whistling wind went by him, and the snow-flakes whirled so fiercely round his head, that he staggered on for a while in utter blindness. He knew the path that Hannah must have taken, and went forward shouting aloud, and stopping every twenty yards to listen for a voice. He sent his well trained dogs over the snow in all directions--repeating to them her name "Hannah Lee," that the dumb animals might, in their sagacity, know for whom they were searching; and as they looked up in his face, and set off to scour the moor, he almost believed that they knew his meaning, (and it is probable they did) and were eager to find in her bewilderment the kind maiden by whose hand they had so often been fed. Often went they off into the darkness, and as often returned, but their looks showed that every quest had been in vain. Meanwhile the snow was of a fearful depth, and falling without intermission or diminution. Had the young shepherd been thus alone, walking across the moor on his ordinary business, it is probable that he might have been alarmed for his own safety--nay, that in spite of all his strength and agility, he might have sunk down beneath the inclemency of the night and perished. But now, the passion of his soul carried him with supernatural strength along, and extricated him from wreath and pitfall. Still there was no trace of poor Hannah Lee--and one of his dogs at last came close to his feet, worn out entirely, and afraid to leave its master--while the other was mute, and, as the shepherd thought, probably unable to force its way out of some hollow or through some floundering drift.--Then he all at once knew that Hannah Lee was