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."

"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."

66

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 practiced 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 you have my solemn promise." "That will do that will do, Mabel; now kiss me; God bless and protect you, girl; you are a good daugh

their course; father,

ter."

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 old soldier's heart was melted, and the tears of the two mingled; but Sergeant 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 XX.

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 Lines written on visiting a Scene in Argyleshire.

Her sleep

It was not only broad daylight when Mabel awoke, but the sun had actually been up some time. 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 in 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, was about to be exposed.

The pre

But the island seemed absolutely deserted. vious 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 quartermaster, 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 blockhouse 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 glade, and the vault, over her head, was impending in the soft sublimity of the blue void. Not a cloud was visible, and she secretly fancied the circumstance might be taken as a harbinger of peace and security.

Perceiving that all the others were occupied with that great concern of human nature, a breakfast, Mabel walked unobserved towards an end of the island, where she was completely shut out of view by the trees and bushes. Here she got a stand on the very edge of the water, by forcing aside the low branches, and stood watching the barely perceptible flow and re-flow of the miniature waves that laved the shore: a sort of physical echo to the agitation that prevailed on the lake fifty miles above her. The glimpses of natural scenery that offered were very soft and pleasing; and our heroine, who had a quick and true eye for all that was lovely in nature, was not slow in selecting the most striking bits of landscape. She gazed through the different vistas formed by the openings between the islands, and thought she had never looked on aught more lovely.

While thus occupied, Mabel was suddenly alarmed by fancying that she caught a glimpse of a human form among the bushes that lined the shore of the island that lay directly before her. The distance across the water was not a hundred yards, - and though she might be mistaken, and her fancy was wandering when the form passed before her sight, still she did not think she could be deceived. Aware that her sex would be no protection against a rifle-bullet, should an Iroquois get a view of her, the girl instinctively drew back, taking care to con

ceal her person as much as possible by the leaves, while she kept her own look riveted on the opposite shore, vainly waiting for some time in the expectation of the stranger. She was about to quit her post in the bushes, and hasten to her uncle in order to acquaint him of her suspicions, when she saw the branch of an alder thrust beyond the bushes, on the other island, and waved towards her significantly, and, as she fancied, in token of amity. This was a breathless and trying moment, to one as inexperienced in frontier warfare as our heroine, yet she felt the great necessity that existed for preserving her recollection, and of acting with steadiness and discretion.

It was one of the peculiarities of the exposure to which those who dwelt on the frontiers of America were liable to bring out the moral qualities of the women to a degree that they must themselves, under other circumstances, have believed they were incapable of manifesting; and Mabel well knew that the borderers loved to dwell, in their legends, on the presence of mind, fortitude, and spirit that their wives and sisters had displayed, under circumstances the most trying. Her emulation had been awakened by what she had heard on such subjects; and it at once struck her, that now was the moment for her to show that she was truly Sergeant Dunham's child. The motion of the branch was such as, she believed, indicated amity; and, after a moment's hesitation, she broke off a twig, fastened it to a stick, and, thrusting it through an opening, waved it in return, imitating, as closely as possible, the manner of the other.

This dumb show lasted two or three minutes on both sides, when Mabel perceived that the bushes opposite were cautiously pushed aside, and a human face appeared at an opening. A glance sufficed to let Mabel see that it was the countenance of a redskin, as well as that of a woman. A second and a better look satisfied her that it was the face of the Dew-of-June, the wife of Arrowhead. During the time she had traveled in company with this woman, Mabel had been won by the gentleness of manner, the meek simplicity, and the mingled awe

and affection with which she regarded her husband. Once or twice, in the course of the journey, she fancied the Tuscarora had manifested towards herself an unpleasant degree of attention; and on those occasions it had struck her that his wife exhibited sorrow and mortification. As Mabel, however, had more than compensated for any pain she might, in this way, unintentionally have caused her companion, by her own kindness of manner and attentions, the woman had shown much attachment to her; and they had parted with a deep conviction on the mind of our heroine that in the Dew-of-June she had lost a friend.

It is useless to attempt to analyze all the ways by which the human heart is led into confidence. Such a feeling, however, had the young Tuscarora woman awakened in the breast of our heroine; and the latter, under the impression that this extraordinary visit was intended. for her own good, felt every disposition to have a closer communication. She no longer hesitated about showing herself clear of the bushes, and was not sorry to see the Dew-of-June imitate her confidence, by stepping fearlessly out of her own cover. The two girls, for the Tuscarora, though married, was even younger than Mabel, now openly exchanged signs of friendship, and the latter. beckoned to her friend to approach, though she knew not the manner, herself, in which this object could be effected. But the Dew-of-June was not slow in letting it be seen that it was in her power; for, disappearing a moment, she soon showed herself again in the end of a bark canoe, the bows of which she had drawn to the edge of the bushes, and of which the body still lay in a sort of covered creek. Mabel was about to invite her to cross, when her own name was called aloud, in the stentorian voice of her uncle. Making a hurried gesture. for the Tuscarora girl to conceal herself, Mabel sprang from the bushes, and tripped up the glade towards the sounds, and perceived that the whole party had just seated themselves at breakfast; Cap having barely put his appetite under sufficient restraint to summon her to