"I hate not all its ways.

There is no hatred in my heart for this house which is its altar, nor for the priestess of the altar.

Ah! now you frown, Truelove"-- Across the clouds ran so fierce a line of gold that Truelove, startled, put her hand before her eyes.

Another dart of lightning, a low roll of thunder, a bending apart of the alder bushes on the far side of the creek; then a woman's voice calling to the boy in the boat to come ferry her over.
"Who may that be ?" asked Truelove wonderingly.
It was only a little way to the bending alders.

Ephraim rowed across the glassy water, dark beneath the approach of the storm; the woman stepped into the boat, and the tiny craft came lightly back to its haven beneath the bank.
"It is Darden's Audrey," said the storekeeper.
Truelove shrank a little, and her eyes darkened.