Day passed and night
came, and in its bosom was hidden a fierce tempest of wind and hail
and snow. The poor maiden wandered on, and on, and on, until she came
upon the banks of a dart, cold river; wild and lost amid tempest and
storm, she wandered down its banks, until, in despair, chilled and
benumbed without heart or hope, she laid her down to die, and the pure
snow covered her. Her father, the proud Judge, and his friends, were
searching for her miles away.
"A little boy told the story to the poor student, who hurried into
the forest, and under the inspiration of his scorned love, ran and ran
until he found the swooning maiden under the snow, took her up in his
arms, placed his garments upon her, and bore her through the cold
and rapid stream, found a shelter under the rocks on the other side,
kindled a fire, gave the maiden, proud no longer, a cordial, warmed
and restored her, made her a couch of moss and dried leaves, and while
she slept he watched over her until the day dawned. Then he conducted
her to a wood-chopper's cabin in the forest, where she was tenderly
cared for. The poor, proud youth would hear no thanks from the maiden.
He sent a note, without his name, to the proud Judge, telling him
where his daughter could be found; and never saw the beautiful maiden,
or proud rich Judge afterwards. This, ladies," with the same gay
banter, "is the romance of the Judge's daughter and the poor student."
"And I suspect," said Miss Giddings, seriously, "that it is about
the literal truth of the affair, and it is more romantic than I had
thought.
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