“Are you, dear father?—­Oh, I am so happy!”

“Hush, minx! the business is mine, and none of yours.—­Hark you, Mark.  You must fly—­there’s no two ways about that; and, between us, there will be a devil of a stir in this matter.  I have it from good authority that the governor will riddle the whole nation but he’ll have every man, woman, and child, concerned in this difficulty:  so that’ll be no place for you.  You must go right on to the Massassippi, and enter lands enough for us all.  Enter them in Kate’s name, and they’ll be secure.  As soon as you’ve fixed that business, write on, say where you are, and we’ll be down upon you, bag and baggage, in no time and less.”

“Oh, dear father—­this is so good of you!”

“Pshaw, get away, minx!  I don’t like kisses jest after supper; it takes the taste all out of my mouth of what I’ve been eating.”

Forrester was loud in his acknowledgments, and sought by eulogistic professions to do away the ill effect of all that he might have uttered in the previous conversation; but the old man cut him short with his wonted querulousness:—­

“Oh, done with your blarney, boy!  ‘It’s all my eye and Betty Martin!’ Won’t you go in and take supper?  There’s something left, I reckon.”

But Forrester had now no idea of eating, and declined accordingly, alleging his determination to set off immediately upon his route—­a determination which the old man highly approved of.

“You are right, Mark—­move’s the word, and the sooner you go about it the better.  Here’s my hand on your bargain, and good-by—­I reckon you’ll have something more to say to Kate, and I suppose you don’t want me to help you in saying it—­so I leave you.  She’s used to the way; and, if she’s at all afraid, you can easily see her home.”

With a few more words the old man took his departure, leaving the young people as happy now as he had before found them sad and sorrowful.  They did not doubt that the reason of this change was as he alleged it, and gave themselves no thought as to causes, satisfied as they were with effects.  But old Allen had not proceeded without his host:  he had been advised of the contemplated turn-out of all the squatters from the gold-region; and, having no better tenure than any of his neighbors, he very prudently made a merit of necessity, and took his measures as we have seen.  The lovers were satisfied, and their interview now wore, though at parting, a more sunshiny complexion.

But why prolong a scene admitting of so little variety as that which describes the sweets, and the strifes, and the sorrows, of mortal love?  We take it there is no reader of novels so little conversant with matters of this nature as not to know how they begin and how they end; and, contenting ourselves with separating the parties—­an act hardhearted enough, in all conscience—­we shall not with idle and questionable sympathy dwell upon the sorrows of