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Thus, not illogically, reasoned James Starr. He communicated
his ideas to old Simon, who decidedly appreciated them.
Nothing, then, appeared to stand in the way of the match.
What, in fact, was there to prevent it? They loved each other;
the parents desired nothing better for their son.
Harry's comrades envied his good fortune, but freely acknowledged
that he deserved it. The maiden depended on no one else,
and had but to give the consent of her own heart.
Why, then, if there were none to place obstacles in the way
of this union--why, as night came on, and, the labors of the day
being over, the electric lights in the mine were
extinguished, and all the inhabitants of Coal Town at rest
within their dwellings--why did a mysterious form always emerge
from the gloomier recesses of New Aberfoyle, and silently glide
through the darkness?
What instinct guided this phantom with ease through passages
so narrow as to appear to be impracticable?
Why should the strange being, with eyes flashing through
the deepest darkness, come cautiously creeping along the shores
of Lake Malcolm? Why so directly make his way towards
Simon's cottage, yet so carefully as hitherto to avoid notice?
Why, bending towards the windows, did he strive to catch,
by listening, some fragment of the conversation within
the closed shutters?
And, on catching a few words, why did he shake his fist with a menacing
gesture towards the calm abode, while from between his set teeth issued
these words in muttered fury, "She and he? Never! never!"
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