“Major Willoughby, my dear sir!” exclaimed Beekman, with a start of unpleasant surprise; “I had supposed him with the royal army, in Boston.  You say he has left the Knoll—­I sincerely hope not for Albany.”

“No—­I wished him to go in that direction, at first, and to see you, in particular; but his representations of the state of the country induced me to change my mind; he travels by a private way, avoiding all the towns of note, or size.”

“In that he has done well, sir.  Near to me as a brother of Beulah’s must always seem, I should be sorry to see Bob, just at this moment.  If there be no hope of getting him to join us, the farther we are separated the better.”

This was said gravely, and it caused all who heard it fully to appreciate the serious character of a quarrel that threatened to arm brother against brother.  As if by common consent, the discourse changed, all appearing anxious, at a moment otherwise so happy, to obliterate impressions so unpleasant from their thoughts.

The captain, his wife, Beulah and the colonel, had several long and private communications in the course of the evening.  Maud was not sorry to be left to herself, and the chaplain devoted his time to the entertainment of the friend of Beekman, who was in truth a surveyor, brought along partly to preserve appearances, and partly for service.  The chain-bearers, hunters, &c., had been distributed in the different cabins of the settlement, immediately on the arrival of the party.

That night, when the sisters retired, Maud perceived that Beulah had something to communicate, out of the common way.  Still, she did not know whether it would be proper for her to make any inquiries, and things were permitted to take their natural course.  At length Beulah, in her gentle way, remarked—­“It is a fearful thing, Maud, for a woman to take upon herself the new duties, obligations and ties of a wife.”

“She should not do it, Beulah, unless she feels a love for the man of her choice, that will sustain her in them.  You, who have real parents living, ought to feel this fully, as I doubt not you do.”

“Real parents!  Maud, you frighten me!  Are not my parents yours?—­Is not all our love common?”

“I am ashamed of myself, Beulah.  Dearer and better parents than mine, no girl ever had.  I am ashamed of my words, and beg you will forget them.”

“That I shall be very ready to do.  It was a great consolation to think that should I be compelled to quit home, as compelled I must be in the end, I should leave with my father and mother a child as dutiful, and one that loves them as sincerely as yourself, Maud.”

“You have thought right, Beulah.  I do love them to my heart’s core!  Then you are right in another sense; for I shall never marry.  My mind is made up to that”

“Well, dear, many are happy that never marry—­many women are happier than those that do.  Evert has a kind, manly, affectionate heart, and I know will do all he can to prevent my regretting home; but we can never have more than one mother, Maud!”