Not where the shadow of death falls--no--not here." He hurried me through the gate, and then paused.
"Rest here a moment," said he, "and recover your composure.

We may meet with those who would wonder to see you thus, with your hair wildly flowing, your scarf loose and disordered." "Thank you," I exclaimed, my thoughts coming to the surface, and resting there with shame.

I had forgotten that my bonnet was in my hand, that my comb had fallen, leaving my hair loose and dishevelled.

Gathering up its length, and twisting it in thick folds around my head, I confined it with my bonnet, and smoothing my thin scarf, I took his arm in silence, and walked on through the purple gloom of twilight that deepened before us.

Slight shivers ran through my frame.