“You, Bob!” cried Maud, starting.  “You are its real uncle; Beulah must ever remember you, and love you, as her own brother!”

Maud’s voice became suddenly hushed, like one who feared she had said too much.  The major gazed at her intently, but he spoke not; nor did his companion see his look, her own eyes being cast meekly and tremblingly on the earth at her feet.  A considerable pause succeeded, and then the conversation reverted to what was going on in the valley.

The sun was now set, and the shadows of evening began to render objects a little indistinct beneath them.  Still it was apparent that much anxiety prevailed in and about the Hut, doubtless on account of our heroine’s absence.  So great was it, indeed, as entirely to supersede the hanging of the remaining leaf of the gate, which stood in the gap where it belonged, stayed by pieces of timber, but unhung.  The major thought some disposition had been made, however, by which the inmates might pass and repass by the half that was suspended, making a tolerable defence, when all was closed.

“Hist!” whispered Maud, whose faculties were quickened by the danger of her companion; “I hear the voice of Michael, and they approach.  No sense of danger can repress poor O’Hearn’s eloquence; his ideas seeming to flow from his tongue very much as they rise to his thoughts, chance directing which shall appear first.”

“It is true, dear girl; and as you seem so strongly to wish it, I will withdraw.  Depend on my keeping near you, and on my presence, should it be required.”

“You will not forget to come beneath the windows, Bob,” said Maud, anxiously, but in great haste; for the footsteps of the men drew rapidly near; “at the very spot where the others descended.”

The major bent forward and kissed a cheek that was chilled with apprehension, but which the act caused to burn like fire; then he disappeared behind the projection of rock he had himself pointed out.  As for Maud, she sat in seeming composure, awaiting the approach of those who drew near.

“The divil bur-r-n me, and all the Injins in Ameriky along wid me,” said Mike, scrambling up the ascent by a short cut, “but I think we’ll find the young Missus, here, or I don’t think we’ll be finding her the night.  It’s a cursed counthry to live in, Misther Strides, where a young lady of the loveliness and pithiful beauty of Miss Maud can be lost in the woods, as it might be a sheep or a stray baste that was for tasting the neighbour’s pastures.”

“You speak too loud, Mike, and you speak foolishness into the bargain,” returned the wary Joel.