These were the thoughts that filled Thurston's mind as he
stood and wiped the clammy dews from the brow of the dying man.
Thurston might have remained much longer, too deeply and painfully
absorbed in thought to notice the darkening of the night or the beating
of the storm, had not a gust of the rain and wind, of unusual violence,
shaken the windows.
This recalled Marian to his mind; it was nearly time for her to arrive;
he hoped that she was near the house; that she would soon be there; he
arose and went to the window to look forth into the night; but the deep
darkness prevented his seeing, as the noise of the storm prevented his
hearing the approach of any vehicle that might be near. He went back to
the bedside; the old man was breathing his life away without a struggle.
Thurston called the mulatto housekeeper to take his place, and then went
down stairs and out of the hall door, and gazed and listened for the
coming of the gig, in vain. He was just about to re-enter the hall and
close the door when the sound of wheels, dashing violently,
helter-skelter, and with break-neck speed into the yard, arrested his
attention.
"Marian! it is my dear Marian at last; but the fellow need not risk her
life to save her from the storm by driving at that rate.
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