the waning moon yet hung low in the west, and all the mystery and majesty of earth was around her, Maria was only conscious of the chill terror in her heart, and of the chill, damp mist from the river which enfolded her like a cloak and was the very atmosphere of sorrow. When she reached the Bradley home, all was shut and still; the very house seemed to be asleep, but why did its closed door affect her so painfully? She went round to the kitchen and found the slave woman Mosella bending over a few blazing chips, making herself a cup of tea. The woman looked at her wonderingly, and when Maria said, "Mosella, I must see Miss Agnes at once," she rose without a word and opened the garden door of the house. The shutters were all closed, the stairway dim, and the creaking of the steps under her feet made her quiver. It was an hour too early for light and life, and a noiseless noise around her seemed to protest against this premature invasion of the day. She entered the room of her friend very softly. It was breathless, shadowy, and on the white bed, Agnes was lying, asleep. For a moment Maria stood looking at the orderly place and the unconscious woman. The pure pallor of her cheeks had the flush of healthy sleep; her brown hair, braided, lay loose upon her pillow, her white hands upon the white coverlet. She was the image of deep, dreamless, peaceful oblivion. It seemed a kind of wrong to awaken her; but though the eyes of Agnes were closed, Maria's gaze called to the soul on guard behind them, and without one premonitory movement she opened them wide and saw Maria at her bedside. A quick fear leaped into her heart. She was momentarily speechless. She laid her hand on Maria's arm, and looked at her with apprehending inquiry. "Harry!" said Maria, and then she sat down and covered her face and began to cry softly. There was no necessity to say more. Agnes understood. She rose and began to dress herself, and in a few minutes asked, though almost in a whisper: "Is he taken?" "Yes." "Where?" "At our landing."
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