Eliza’sEscape
Elizamadeherdesperateretreatacrosstheriverjustintheduskoftwilight。Thegraymistofevening，risingslowlyfromtheriver，envelopedherasshedisappearedupthebank，andtheswollencurrentandflounderingmassesoficepresentedahopelessbarrierbetweenherandherpursuer。Haleythereforeslowlyanddiscontentedlyreturnedtothelittletavern，toponderfurtherwhatwastobedone。Thewomanopenedtohimthedoorofalittleparlor，coveredwitharagcarpet，wherestoodatablewithaveryshiningblackoil-cloth，sundrylank，high-backedwoodchairs，withsomeplasterimagesinresplendentcolorsonthemantel-shelf，aboveaverydimly-smokinggrate；alonghard-woodsettleextendeditsuneasylengthbythechimney，andhereHaleysathimdowntomeditateontheinstabilityofhumanhopesandhappinessingeneral。
“WhatdidIwantwiththelittlecuss，now，”hesaidtohimself，“thatIshouldhavegotmyselftreedlikeacoon，asIam，thisyerway？”andHaleyrelievedhimselfbyrepeatingoveranotveryselectlitanyofimprecationsonhimself，which，thoughtherewasthebestpossiblereasontoconsiderthemastrue，weshall，asamatteroftaste，omit。
Hewasstartledbytheloudanddissonantvoiceofamanwhowasapparentlydismountingatthedoor。Hehurriedtothewindow。
“Bytheland！ifthisyeran’tthenearest，now，towhatI’veheardfolkscallProvidence，”saidHaley。“Idob’lievethatar’sTomLoker。”