Until the cold grey dawn peered in upon me through
the small dim window. I have passed many a long cheerless night,
when my dear husband was away from me during the rebellion, and I
was left in my forest home with five little children, and only an
old Irish woman to draw and cut wood for my fire, and attend to the
wants of the family, but that was the saddest and longest night I
ever remember.
Just as the day broke, my friends the wolves set up a parting
benediction, so loud, and wild, and near to the house, that I was
afraid lest they should break through the frail window, or come down
the low wide chimney, and rob me of my child. But their detestable
howls died away in the distance, and the bright sun rose up and
dispersed the wild horrors of the night, and I looked once more
timidly around me. The sight of the table spread, and the uneaten
supper, renewed my grief, for I could not divest myself of the idea
that Moodie was dead. I opened the door, and stepped forth into the
pure air of the early day. A solemn and beautiful repose still hung
like a veil over the face of Nature. The mists of night still rested
upon the majestic woods, and not a sound but the flowing of the
waters went up in the vast stillness. The earth had not yet raised
her matin hymn to the throne of the Creator. Sad at heart, and weary
and worn in spirit, I went down to the spring and washed my face and
head, and drank a deep draught of its icy waters. On returning to
the house I met, near the door, old Brian the hunter, with a large
fox dangling across his shoulder, and the dogs following at his
heels.
"Good God! Mrs. Moodie, what is the matter? You are early abroad
this morning, and look dreadful ill. Is anything wrong at home?
Is the baby or your husband sick?"
"Oh!" I cried, bursting into tears, "I fear he is killed by the
wolves."
The man stared at me, as if he doubted the evidence of his senses,
and well he might; but this one idea had taken such strong
possession of my mind that I could admit no other. I then told him,
as well as I could find words, the cause of my alarm, to which he
listened very kindly and patiently.
"Set your heart at rest; your husband is safe. It is a long journey
on foot to Mollineux, to one unacquainted with a blazed path in a
bush road. They have stayed all night at the black man's shanty,
and you will see them back at noon."
I shook my head and continued to weep.
