She could discern nothing but misty shadows, and
outlines of she could not tell what; the starlight was too dim
to reveal any thing to a stranger.
"There's the house," said Mr. Van Brunt, after a few minutes
more, — "do you see it yonder?"
Ellen strained her eyes, but could make out nothing — not even
a glimpse of white. She sat back in her chair, her heart
beating violently. Presently Mr. Van Brunt jumped down and
opened a gate at the side of the road; and with a great deal
of "gee"-ing the oxen turned to the right, and drew the cart a
little way up hill — then stopped on what seemed level ground.
"Here we are!" cried Mr. Van Brunt, as he threw his whip on
the ground — "and late enough! You must be tired of that
little arm-cheer by this time. Come to the side of the cart,
and I'll lift you down."
Poor Ellen! There was no help for it. She came to the side of
the cart, and, taking her in his arms, her rough charioteer
set her very gently and carefully on the ground.
"There!" said he, "now you can run right in; do you see that
little gate?"
"No," said Ellen, "I can't see anything."
"Well, come here," said he, "and I'll show you. Here — you're
running agin the fence — this way!"
And he opened a little wicket, which Ellen managed to stumble
through.
"Now," said he, "go straight up to that door yonder, and open
it, and you'll see where to go.
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