With this purpose
he instantly dressed, himself, and quietly unbolting his own door,
and that of the kitchen, got another staff, and passed out to seek her
father's inn.
The night had now become dark, but mild and agreeable; the repose of man
and nature was deep, and save his own tumultuous thoughts every thing
breathed an air of peace and rest. At a quick but cautious pace he soon
reached the inn, and without much difficulty passed into the garden,
from which he hoped to be able to make himself known to Ellen. In this,
to his great mortification, he was disappointed; the room in which she
slept, being on the third story, presented a window, it is true, to the
garden; but how was he to reach it, or hold a dialogue with her, even
should she recognize him, without being overheard by some of the family?
All this might have occurred to him at home, had he been sufficiently
cool for reflection. As it was, the only method of awakening her that he
could think of was to throw up several handsful of small pebbles against
the window. This he tried without any effect. Pebbles sufficiently large
to reach the window would have broken the glass, so that he felt himself
compelled to abandon every hope of speaking to her that night. With
lingering and reluctant steps he left the garden, and stood for some
time before the front of the house, leaning against an upright stone,
called the market cross.
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