“My father!” she exclaimed, —­ “my dear father has thought of my becoming your wife, Pathfinder?”

“Yes, he has, Mabel, he has, indeed.  He has even thought such a thing might be agreeable to you, and has almost encouraged me to fancy it might be true.”

“But you yourself, —­ you certainly can care nothing whether this singular expectation shall ever be realized or not?”

“Anan?”

“I mean, Pathfinder, that you have talked of this match more to oblige my father than anything else; that your feelings are no way concerned, let my answer be what it may?”

The scout looked earnestly into the beautiful face of Mabel, which had flushed with the ardor and novelty of her sensations, and it was not possible to mistake the intense admiration that betrayed itself in every lineament of his ingenuous countenance.

“I have often thought myself happy, Mabel, when ranging the woods on a successful hunt, breathing the pure air of the hills, and filled with vigor and health; but I now know that it has all been idleness and vanity compared with the delight it would give me to know that you thought better of me than you think of most others.”

“Better of you! —­ I do, indeed, think better of you, Pathfinder, than of most others:  I am not certain that I do not think better of you than of any other; for your truth, honesty, simplicity, justice, and courage are scarcely equalled by any of earth.”

“Ah, Mabel, these are sweet and encouraging words from you! and the Sergeant, after all, was not so near wrong as I feared.”

“Nay, Pathfinder, in the name of all that is sacred and just, do not let us misunderstand each other in a matter of so much importance.  While I esteem, respect, nay, reverence you, almost as much as I reverence my own dear father, it is impossible that I should ever become your wife —­ that I —­ "

The change in her companion’s countenance was so sudden and so great, that the moment the effect of what she had uttered became visible in the face of the Pathfinder, Mabel arrested her own words, notwithstanding her strong desire to be explicit, the reluctance with which she could at any time cause pain being sufficient of itself to induce the pause.  Neither spoke for some time, the shade of disappointment that crossed the rugged lineaments of the hunter amounting so nearly to anguish as to frighten his companion, while the sensation of choking became so strong in the Pathfinder that he fairly griped his throat, like one who sought physical relief for physical suffering.  The convulsive manner in which his fingers worked actually struck the alarmed girl with a feeling of awe.

“Nay, Pathfinder,” Mabel eagerly added, the instant she could command her voice, —­ “I may have said more than I mean; for all things of this nature are possible, and women, they say, are never sure of their own minds.  What I wish you to understand is, that it is not likely that you and I should ever think of each other as man and wife ought to think of each other.”