Overtaking Maria was of course beyond a possibility, but he desired to reach New York before its evacuation. He had many reasons for this, but the chief one was a fear that unless he did so, there might be no clergyman in New York to perform the marriage ceremony. Lovers have a thousand anxieties, and if they do not have them, make them; and as the "Dolphin" flew before the wind, Medway walked her deck, wondering if Maria had arrived safely in New York, if her ship had been delayed, if it had been taken by a privateer, if there had been any shipwreck, or even great storms; if by any cruel chance he should reach New York, and not find Maria there. How could he endure the consequent disappointment and anxiety? He trembled, he turned heartsick, at any such possibility, and when the green shores of the new world appeared, he almost wished for a little longer suspense; he thought a certainty of Maria's absence would kill him.
As they came nearer to the city it was found impossible to approach any of the usual wharfs. The river was crowded with men-of-war, transports, and vessels of every kind, and after some consideration they took to the North River, and finally anchored in midstream, nearly opposite the house of Madame Jacobus.
The sight of her residence inspired him with something like hope, and he caused the small boat by which he landed to put him on shore as far north of the heart of the city as possible. But even so, he could distinctly hear, and still more distinctly _feel_ the sorrowful tumult of the chaotic, almost frantic town. With swift steps and beating heart he reached the Semple house. He stood still a moment and looked at it. In the morning sunshine it had its usual, peaceful, orderly aspect, and as he reached the gate, he saw the Elder open the door, and, oh, sight of heaven! Maria stepped into the garden with him.
[Illustration: HE CAUSED THE SMALL BOAT TO PUT HIM ON SHORE.]
What happened then? Let each heart tell itself. We have many words to express grief, none that translate the transports of love that has conquered all the accidents of a contrary fortune. Such joy speaks like a child, two or three words at a time, "My Darling--Oh, Beloved--Sweetest Maria--Ernest--Ernest--At last--At last!"