At the end of that time, the little man came stubbing down the walk, making many apologies, and saying “he got so engaged about the darned ‘liquor law,’ and the putty-heads that made it, that he’d no idee ’twas so late.”

On their way home he still continued to discourse on his favorite topic, lamenting that he had voted for the present governor, announcing his intention of “jinin’ the Hindews the fust time they met at Suckerport,” a village at the foot of Honeoye lake, and stopping every man whom he knew to belong to that order, to ask if they took a fee, and if “there was any bedivelment of gridirons and goats, such as the Masons and Odd Fellers had!” Being repeatedly assured that the fee was only a dollar, and that the initiatory process was not very painful, he concluded “to go it, provided they’d promise to run him for constable.  Office is the hull any of the scallywags jine ’em for, and I may as well go in for a sheer,” said he, thinking if he could not have the privilege of selling liquor, he would at least secure the right of arresting those who drank it!

In this way his progress homeward was not very rapid, and the clock had struck ten long ere they reached the inn, which they found still and dark, save the light which was kept burning in ’Lena’s room.

“That’s her chamber—­the young gal’s—­where you see the candle,” said Uncle Timothy, as they drew up before the huge walls of the tavern.  “I guess you won’t want to disturb her to-night.”

“Certainly not,” answered Mr. Graham, adding, as he felt a twinge of his inveterate habit of secrecy, “If you’d just as lief, you need not speak of me to the young gentleman; I wish to take him by surprise”—­meaning Durward.

There was no particular necessity for this caution, for Uncle Timothy was too much absorbed in his loss to think of anything else, and when his wife asked “who it was that he lighted up to bed,” he replied, “A chap that wanted to come out this way, and so rid with me.”

Mr. Graham was very tired, and now scarcely had his head pressed the pillow ere he was asleep, dreaming of ’Lena, whose presence was to shed such a halo of sunlight over his hitherto cheerless home.  The ringing of the bell next morning failed to arouse him, but when Mrs. Aldergrass, noticing his absence from the table, inquired for him, Uncle Timothy answered, “Never mind, let him sleep—­tuckered out, mebby—­and you know we allus have a sixpence more for an extra meal!”

About eight Mr. Graham arose, and after a more than usually careful toilet, he sat down to collect his scattered thoughts, for now that the interview was so near, his ideas seemed suddenly to forsake him.  From the window he saw Durward depart for his walk, watching him until he disappeared in the dim shadow of the woods.

“I will wait until his return, and let him tell her,” thought he, but when a half hour or more went by and Durward did not come, he concluded to go down and ask to see her by himself.