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186 To-morrow, to-morrow, when day-light departs, And twilight is spread over broken hearts,— When the fight is fought, when the race is run, When the strife and the anguish are over and done; When the bride-bed is decked with a winding-sheet, And the innocent dove has died at thy feet; —Then conies a bride-groom for me, I trow, That shall live with me in my house of woe. Here’s to him that shoots the dove! Come for the prize to me, my love!”

Now came all at once a rattling as of wheels and the cracking of postillions’ whips. A carriage and six drove up with outriders. “What the devil’s this that stops the way?” cried the man who rode the leaders, “Make way there, I say, clear the road.” William looked up, and saw sparks of fire darting from the horses’ hoofs, and a circle of flame about the carriage-wheels. By this he knew it to be a work of the fiend, and never stirred. “Push on, my lads, drive over him, helter skelter,” cried the same postillion, looking back to the others; and in a moment the whole equipage moved rapidly upon the circle. William cowered down to the ground, beneath the dash of the leaders fore-