‘I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled.’

Oh, I hope he will have a rousing fire.”

Julia walked rapidly and silently by his side, hardly hearing his last words; she was thinking why he would not permit her to thank him—­and that it would all be recalled in her home—­finally, his meaning came to her.  He would seek and save her from death, and even from the memory of an unconsidered word, which might possibly be misconstrued; and she clung more closely to the arm which had borne her over the flood.

“I am hurrying you, I fear.”

“No, not a bit.  Oh, now I can see the cabin; and there is the man, right by the side of it.”

“It must be Wilder’s,” said Bart.  “He moved into the woods here somewhere.”

As they approached, the chopper stopped abruptly, and gazed on them in blank wonder.  The dishevelled girl, with hanging hair, and red “wamus,” and the wild, haggard-looking, coatless youth, with belt and hatchet, were as strange apparitions, coming up out of the interminable woods, as could well meet the gaze of a rustic wood-chopper of an early morning.

“Can you give this young lady shelter and food?” asked Bart, gravely.

“I guess so,” said the man; “been out all night?” and he hurried them into a warm and cheerful room, bright with a blazing fire, where was a comely, busy matron, who turned to them in speechless surprise.

“This is Judge Markham’s daughter,” said Bart, as Julia sank into a chair, strongly inclined to break down completely; “she got lost, last night, near her father’s, and wandered all night alone, and I found her just beyond the creek, not more than two hours ago.  I must place her in your hands, my good woman.”

“Poor, precious thing!” cried the woman, kneeling and pulling off her shoes, and placing her chilled feet to the fire.  “What a blessed mercy you did not perish, you darling.”

“I should, if it had not been for him,” now giving way.  Mrs. Wilder stepped a moment into the other of the two rooms, into which the lower floor of the cabin was divided, and spoke to some one in it; and giving Julia a bowl of hot milk and tea, led her to the inner apartment.

“Take care of him;” were her words, as she left, nodding her head towards Barton.

“How far is it to Markham’s?” asked Bart.

“‘Bout seven mile round, an’ five ’cross.”

“Have you a horse?”

“Fust rate!”

“Saddle him, and go to Markham’s at once.  The father and mother of this girl are frantic:  a thousand men are hunting for her; you’ll be paid.”

“I don’t want no pay,” said Wilder, hurrying out.  Five minutes later, sitting on his saddle, he received a slip of paper from Bart.

“Who shall I say?” said Wilder, not without curiosity on his own account.

“That will tell the Judge all he’ll want to know.  He will hear my name as soon as he will care to.”