“My present aim is the nation—­I shall cross the Chestatee river to-morrow, and shall push at once for the forest of Etowee, and beyond the Etowee river.  I know the place well, and have been through it before.  There I shall linger until I hear all the particulars of this affair in its progress, and determine upon my route accordingly.  If the stir is great, as I reckon it will be, I shall push into Tennessee, and perhaps go for the Mississippi.  Could I hope that your father would consent to remove, I should at once do this and make a settlement, where, secure from interruption and all together, we might live happily and honorably for the future.”

“And why not do so now—­why stop at all among the Cherokees?  Why not go at once into Mississippi, and begin the world, as you propose in the end to do?”

“What! and leave you for ever—­now Kate, you are indeed cruel.  I had not thought to have listened to such a recommendation from one who loved me as you profess.”

“As I do, Mark—­I say nothing which I do not feel.  It does not follow that you will be any nigher your object, if my father continue firm in his refusal, though nigher to me, by lingering about in the nation.  On the contrary, will he not, hearing of you in the neighborhood, be more close in his restraints upon me?  Will not your chance of exposure, too, be so much the greater, as to make it incumbent upon him to pursue his determination with rigor? while, on the other hand, if you remove yourself out of all reach of Georgia, in the Mississippi, and there begin a settlement, I am sure that he will look upon the affair with different notions.”

“It can not be, Kate—­it can not be.  You know I have had but a single motive for living so long among this people and in these parts.  I disliked both, and only lingered with a single hope, that I might be blessed with your presence always, and in the event of my sufficient success, that I might win you altogether for myself.  I have not done much for this object and this unhappy affair forbids me for the present to do more.  Is not this enough, Katharine, and must I bury myself from you a thousand miles in the forest, ignorant of what may be going on, and without any hope, such as I have lived for before?  Is the labor I have undergone—­the life I have led—­to have no fruits?  Will you too be the first to recommend forgetfulness; to overthrow my chance of happiness?  No—­it must not be.  Hear me, Kate—­hear me, and say I have not worked altogether in vain.  I have acquired some little by my toils, and can acquire more.  There is one thing now, one blessing which you may afford, and the possession of which will enable me to go with a light heart and a strong hand into any forests, winning comforts for both of us—­happiness, if the world have it—­and nothing to make us afraid.”

He spoke with deep energy, and she looked inquiringly into his face.  The expression was satisfactory, and she replied without hesitation:—­