ABSTRACT
Our hero drove on furiously most part of the night, and continued the remainder of it at an inn on the road. Uncertainty, indignation, and solicitude, expelled sleep from his pillow, and distracted his heart and head. Sometimes he conceived it might be a black forgery of squire Aaron’s; and, at others, that Miss Moody might have been compelled to give currency to such a report, to repel the anger of her brother. This last conjecture predominated. /
