But she ran on again. She was now nigh the ruined
hut with which my narrative has made the reader acquainted. In
the mean time the moon had been growing out of the clouds,
clearer and clearer. The hut came in sight. But the look of it
was somehow altered--with an undefinable change, such as might
appear on a familiar object in a dream; and leaning against the
side of the door stood a figure she could not mistake for another
than her musician. Absorbed in his music, he did not see her. She
called out, "Joseph! Joseph!" He started, threw his bow from him,
tucked his violin under his arm, and bounded to meet her. She
tried to stop, and the same moment to look behind her. The
consequence was that she fell--but safe in the smith's arms. That
instant appeared a man running. He half stopped, and, turning
from the path, took to the common. Jasper handed his violin to
Mary, and darted after him. The chase did not last a minute; the
man was nearly spent. Joseph seized him by the wrist, saw
something glitter in his other hand, and turned sick. The fellow
had stabbed him. With indignation, as if it were a snake that had
bit him, the blacksmith flung from him the hand he held. The man
gave a cry, staggered, recovered himself, and ran. Joseph would
have followed again, but fell, and for a minute or two lost
consciousness. When he came to himself, Mary was binding up his
arm.
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