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"Mine will never laugh again, dearest father, if you do not take care of yourself in this expedition."

"Thank you, Mabel-hem-thank you, child; but I must do my duty. I wish I had seen you comfortably married before we left Oswego!-my mind would be easier."

"Married!-to whom, father?"

"You know the man I wish you to love. You may meet with many gayer, and many dressed in finer clothes; but with none with so true a heart, and just a mind."

"None, father?"

"I know of none; in these particulars, Pathfinder has few equals, at least.”

"But I need not marry at all. You are single, and I can remain to take care of you."

"God bless you, Mabel !-I know you would, and I do not say that the feeling is not right, for I suppose it is; and yet I believe there is another, that is more so."

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"What can be more right than to honour one's parents?" "It is just as right to honour one's husband, my dear child." "But I have no husband, father."

"Then take one, as soon as possible, that you may have a husband to honour. I cannot live for ever, Mabel, but must drop off in the course of nature, ere long, if I am not carried off in the course of war. You are young, and may yet live long; and it is proper that you should have a male protector, who can see you safe through life, and take care of you in age, as you now wish to take care of me."

"And do you think, father-" said Mabel, playing with his sinewy fingers, with her own little hands, and looking down at them, as if they were subjects of intense interest, though her lips curled in a slight smile, as the words came from them-" and do you think, father, that Pathfinder is just the man to do this?-Is he not, within ten or twelve years, as old as yourself?"

"What of that?-His life has been one of moderation and exercise, and years are less to be counted, girl, than constitution. Do you know another more likely to be your protector?"

Mabel did not; at least another who had expressed a de sire to that effect, whatever might have been her hopes and her wishes.

"Nay, father, we are not talking of another, but of the Pathfinder," she answered evasively. "If he were younger, I think it would be more natural for me to think of him for a husband."

""Tis all in the constitution, I tell you, child: Pathfinder is a younger man than half our subalterns."

"He is certainly younger than one, sir-Lieutenant Muir." Mabel's laugh was joyous and light-hearted, as if just then she felt no care

"That he is-young enough to be his grandson-he is younger in years too. God forbid, Mabel! that you should ever become an officer's lady, at least until you are an officer's daughter."

"There will be little fear of that, father, if I marry Pathfinder !" returned the girl, looking up archly in the serjeant's face again.

"Not by the King's commission, perhaps, though the man is even now the friend and companion of generals. I think I could die happy, Mabel, if you were his wife."

"Father!"

""Tis a sad thing to go into battle, with the weight of an unprotected daughter laid upon the heart."

"I would give the world to lighten yours of its load, my dear sir !"

"It might be done-" said the serjeant, looking fondly at his child, "though I could not wish to put a burthen on yours, in order to do so."

The voice was deep and tremulous, and never before had Mabel witnessed such a show of affection in her parent. The habitual sternness of the man, lent an interest to his emotions, that they might otherwise have wanted, and the daughter's heart yearned to relieve the father's mind.

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Father, speak plainly," she cried, almost convulsively. Nay, Mabel, it might not be right-your wishes and mine may be very different."

"I have no wishes-know nothing of what you mean→ would you speak of my future marriage?"

"If I could see you promised to Pathfinder-know that you were pledged to become his wife, let my own fate be what it might, I think I could die happy. But I will ask no pledge of you, my child-I will not force you to do

what you might repent. Kiss me, Mabel, and go to your bed."

Had Serjeant Dunham exacted of Mabel the pledge that he really so much desired, he would have encountered a resistance that he might have found difficult to overcome; but, by letting nature have its course, he enlisted a powerful ally on his side, and the warm-hearted, generous-minded Mabel was ready to concede to her affections, much more than she would ever have yielded to menace. At that touching moment she thought only of her parent, who was about to quit her, perhaps for ever; and all of that ardent love for him, which had possibly been as much fed by the imagination as by any thing else, but which had received a little check by the restrained intercourse of the last fortnight, now returned with a force that was increased by pure and intense feeling. Her father seemed all in all to her, and to render him happy, there was no proper sacrifice that she was not ready to make. One painful, rapid, almost wild gleam of thought shot across the brain of the girl, and her resolution wavered; but endeavouring to trace the foundation of the pleasing hope on which it was based, she found nothing positive to support it. Trained like a woman, to subdue her most ardent feelings, her thoughts reverted to her father, and to the blessings that awaited the child who yielded to a parent's wishes.

"Father," she said quietly, almost with a holy calın"God blesses the dutiful daughter!"

"He will, Mabel; we have the good book for that." "I will marry whomever you desire."

"Nay-nay, Mabel-you may have a choice of your

own"

"I have no choice-that is-none have asked me to have a choice, but Pathfinder and Mr. Muir; and between them, neither of us would hesitate. No, father; I will marry whomever you may choose."

"Thou knowest my choice, beloved child; none other can make thee as happy, as the noble-hearted guide."

"Well then, if he wish it-if he ask me again-for, father, you would not have me offer myself, or that any one should do that office for me"-and the blood stole across the pallid cheeks of Mabel, as she spoke, for high and generous resolutions had driven back the stream of life to her heart," no

one must speak to him of it; but if he seek me again, and, knowing all that a true girl ought to tell the man she marries, and he then wishes to make me his wife, I will be his." "Bless you, my Mabel-God in heaven bless you, and reward you as a pious daughter deserves to be rewarded."

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Yes, father-put your mind at peace-go on this expedition with a light heart, and trust in God. For me, you will have, now, no care. In the spring-I must have a little time, father-but, in the spring, I will marry Pathfinder, if that noble-hearted hunter shall then desire it."

"Mabel, he loves you as I loved your mother. I have seen him weep like a child, when speaking of his feelings towards you."

"Yes, I believe it-I've seen enough to satisfy me, that he thinks better of me than I deserve; and certainly the man is not living for whom I have more respect, than for Pathfinder; not even for you, dear father."

"That is as it should be, child, and the union will be blessed. May I not tell Pathfinder this?"

"I would rather you would not, father. Let it come of itself--come naturally-the man should seek the woman, and not the woman the man-." The smile that illuminated Mabel's handsome face, was angelic, as even her parent thought, though one better practised in detecting the passing emotions, as they betray themselves in the countenance, might have traced something wild and unnatural in it—“No— no-we must let things take their course; father, you have my solemn promise.'

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"That will do-that will do, Mabel; now kiss me-God bless and protect you, girl-you are a good daughter."

Mabel threw herself into her father's arms,-it was the first time in her life, and sobbed on his bosom like an infant. The stern soldier's heart was melted, and the tears of the two mingled: but Serjeant Dunham soon started, as if ashamed of himself, and gently forcing his daughter from him, he bade her good night, and sought his pallet. Mabel went sobbing to the rude corner that had been prepared for her reception, and in a few minutes the hut was undisturbed by any sound, save the heavy breathing of the veteran.

CHAPTER V.

"Wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,
By the dial stone, aged and green,

One rose of the wilderness, left on its stalk,
To mark where a garden had been."

CAMPBELL.

It was not only broad day-light, when Mabel awoke, but the sun had actually been up some time. Her sleep had been tranquil, for she rested on an approving conscience, and fatigue contributed to render it sweet; and no sound of those who had been so early in motion, had interfered with her rest. Springing to her feet, and rapidly dressing herself, the girl was soon breathing the fragrance of the morning, in the open air. For the first time, she was sensibly struck with the singular beauties, as well as with the profound retirement of her present situation. The day proved to be one of those of the autumnal glory, so common to a climate that is more abused than appreciated, and its influence was every way inspiriting and genial. Mabel was benefited by this circumstance, for, as she fancied, her heart was heavy on account of the dangers to which a father, whom she now began to love, as women love, when confidence is created.

But the island seemed absolutely deserted. The previous night, the bustle of the arrival had given the spot an appearance of life that was now entirely gone, and our heroine had turned her eyes nearly around on every object in sight, before she caught a view of a single human being to remove the sense of utter solitude. Then, indeed, she beheld all who were left behind, collected in a group, around a fire which might be said to belong to the camp. The person of her uncle, to whom she was so much accustomed, reassured the girl, and she examined the remainder, with a curiosity natural to her situation. Besides Cap, and the Quarter-Master, there were the corporal, the three soldiers, and the woman who was cooking. The huts were silent and empty, and the low, but tower-like summit of the block-house, rose above the bushes, by which it was half concealed, in picturesque beauty. The sun was just casting its brightness into the open places of the

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