The approach of night, at sea and in a wilderness, has always something more solemn in it, than on land in the centre of civilization.  As the curtain is drawn before his eyes, the solitude of the mariner is increased, while even his sleepless vigilance seems, in a measure, baffled, by the manner in which he is cut off from the signs of the hour.  Thus, too, in the forest, or in an isolated clearing, the mysteries of the woods are deepened, and danger is robbed of its forethought and customary guards.  That evening, Major Willoughby stood at a window with an arm round the slender waist of Beulah, Maud standing a little aloof; and, as the twilight retired, leaving the shadows of evening to thicken on the forest that lay within a few hundred feet of that side of the Hut, and casting a gloom over the whole of the quiet solitude, he felt the force of the feeling just mentioned, in a degree he had never before experienced.

“This is a very retired abode, my sisters,” he said, thoughtfully.  “Do my father and mother never speak of bringing you out more into the world?”

“They take us to New York every winter, now father is in the Assembly,” quietly answered Beulah.  “We expected to meet you there, last season, and were greatly disappointed that you did not come.”

“My regiment was sent to the eastward, as you know, and having just received my new rank of major, it would not do to be absent at the moment.  Do you ever see any one here, besides those who belong to the manor?”

“Oh! yes”—­exclaimed Maud eagerly—­then she paused, as if sorry she had said anything; continuing, after a little pause, in a much more moderated vein—­“I mean occasionally.  No doubt the place is very retired.”

“Of what characters are your visiters?—­hunters, trappers, settlers—­ savages or travellers?”

Maud did not answer; but, Beulah, after waiting a moment for her sister to reply, took that office on herself.

“Some of all,” she said, “though few certainly of the latter class.  The hunters are often here; one or two a month, in the mild season; settlers rarely, as you may suppose, since my father will not sell, and there are not many about, I believe; the Indians come more frequently, though I think we have seen less of them, during Nick’s absence than while he was more with us.  Still we have as many as a hundred in a year, perhaps, counting the women.  They come in parties, you know, and five or six of these will make that number.  As for travellers, they are rare; being generally surveyors, land-hunters, or perhaps a proprietor who is looking up his estate.  We had two of the last in the fall, before we went below.”

“That is singular; and yet one might well look for an estate in a wilderness like this.  Who were your proprietors?”

“An elderly man, and a young one.  The first was a sort of partner of the late Sir William’s, I believe, who has a grant somewhere near us, for which he was searching.  His name was Fonda.  The other was one of the Beekmans, who has lately succeeded his father in a property of considerable extent, somewhere at no great distance from us, and came to take a look at it.  They say he has quite a hundred thousand acres, in one body.”