“Pathfinder, your words, —­ your looks:  —­ surely all this is meant in trifling; you speak in pleasantry?”

“To me it is always agreeable to be near you, Mabel; and I should sleep sounder this blessed night than I have done for a week past, could I think that you find such discourse as pleasant as I do.”

We shall not say that Mabel Dunham had not believed herself a favorite with the guide.  This her quick feminine sagacity had early discovered; and perhaps she had occasionally thought there had mingled with his regard and friendship some of that manly tenderness which the ruder sex must be coarse, indeed, not to show on occasions to the gentler; but the idea that he seriously sought her for his wife had never before crossed the mind of the spirited and ingenuous girl.  Now, however, a gleam of something like the truth broke in upon her imagination, less induced by the words of her companion, perhaps, than by his manner.  Looking earnestly into the rugged, honest countenance of the scout, Mabel’s own features became concerned and grave; and when she spoke again, it was with a gentleness of manner that attracted him to her even more powerfully than the words themselves were calculated to repel.

“You and I should understand each other, Pathfinder,” said she with an earnest sincerity; “nor should there be any cloud between us.  You are too upright and frank to meet with anything but sincerity and frankness in return.  Surely, surely, all this means nothing, —­ has no other connection with your feelings than such a friendship as one of your wisdom and character would naturally feel for a girl like me?”

“I believe it’s all nat’ral, Mabel, yes; I do:  the Sergeant tells me he had such feelings towards your own mother, and I think I’ve seen something like it in the young people I have from time to time guided through the wilderness.  Yes, yes, I daresay it’s all nat’ral enough, and that makes it come so easy, and is a great comfort to me.”

“Pathfinder, your words make me uneasy.  Speak plainer, or change the subject for ever.  You do not, cannot mean that —­ you cannot wish me to understand” —­ even the tongue of the spirited Mabel faltered, and she shrank, with maiden shame, from adding what she wished so earnestly to say.  Rallying her courage, however, and determined to know all as soon and as plainly as possible, after a moment’s hesitation, she continued, —­ “I mean, Pathfinder, that you do not wish me to understand that you seriously think of me as a wife?”

“I do, Mabel; that’s it, that’s just it; and you have put the matter in a much better point of view than I with my forest gifts and frontier ways would ever be able to do.  The Sergeant and I have concluded on the matter, if it is agreeable to you, as he thinks is likely to be the case; though I doubt my own power to please one who deserves the best husband America can produce.”

Mabel’s countenance changed from uneasiness to surprise; and then, by a transition still quicker, from surprise to pain.