The Deering Woods

Edith had been in a state of feverish excitement all the day, so
happy had she been made by the certainty that Arthur loved her.
She had not doubted it before, but having it told her in so many
words was delightful, and she could scarcely wait for the hour
when she was to hear the continuation of a story abruptly
terminated by the return of Richard. Poor Richard! He was sitting
in his library now, looking so lonely, when on her way through the
hall she glanced in at him, that she almost cried to think how
desolate he would be when she was gone.

"I'll coax Arthur to come here and live," she said to herself,
thinking how nice it would be to have Arthur and Nina and Richard
all in one house.

The hands of her watch were pointing to three, as, stepping out
upon the piazza she passed hurriedly through the grounds and
turned in the direction of the Deering Woods. Onward, onward, over
the hill and across the fields she flew, until the woods were
reached--the silent, leafless woods, where not a sound was heard
save the occasional dropping of a nut, the rustle of a leaf, or
the ripple of the mill-brook falling over the stones. The warm sun
had dried the withered grass, and she sat down beneath a forest
tree, watching, waiting, wondering, and trembling violently at
last as in the distance she heard the cracking of the brittle
twigs and fancied he was coming.