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The Fisher Maiden.
71

but not be seen. When time wore on and he did not come, contending emotions flamed up; now in anger, now in alarm, she listened; she heard every one who came that way long ere he came in sight, but it was never he. Birds shifting their perches among the foliage while dozing, startled her, so on the strain was she; every sound from town, every cry attracted her attention. A large ship was weighing anchor amid the singing of the sailors. It was to be towed out to-night that it might take advantage of the first morning breeze. How she longed to sail with it out on the wide ocean. The song of the sailors, as they hoisted the sails, became her own. The sound of the capstan gave her strength; for what purpose; whither would it bear her?

There was the light hat in the road, right in front of her. She sprang to her feet, and, without delay, darted off, and as she ran she remembered that she ought not to have run away; this was error upon error, and so she paused. As he approached the spot where she stood among the trees, she was panting so that he heard every breath, and the same power she had exercised over him on their previous meeting through her daring, she now exercised through her fear. He stood looking at her, shy, even bewildered, and whispered,—