“It may be the Delaware.  He would follow us, of course down this bank, and would know where to look for us.  Let me draw closer into the shore, and reconnoitre.”

“Go boy but be light with the paddle, and on no account venture ashore on an onsartainty.”

“Is this prudent?” demanded Mabel, with an impetuosity that rendered her incautious in modulating her sweet voice.

“Very imprudent, if you speak so loud, fair one.  I like your voice, which is soft and pleasing, after the listening so long to the tones of men; but it must not be heard too much, or too freely, just now.  Your father, the honest Sergeant, will tell you, when you meet him, that silence is a double virtue on a trail.  Go, Jasper, and do justice to your own character for prudence.”

Ten anxious minutes succeeded the disappearance of the canoe of Jasper, which glided away from that of the Pathfinder so noiselessly, that it had been swallowed up in the gloom before Mabel allowed herself to believe the young man would really venture alone on a service which struck her imagination as singularly dangerous.  During this time, the party continued to float with the current, no one speaking, and, it might almost be said, no one breathing, so strong was the general desire to catch the minutest sound that should come from the shore.  But the same solemn, we might, indeed, say sublime, quiet reigned as before; the washing of the water, as it piled up against some slight obstruction, and the sighing of the trees, alone interrupting the slumbers of the forest.  At the end of the period mentioned, the snapping of dried branches was again faintly heard, and the Pathfinder fancied that the sound of smothered voices reached him.

“I may be mistaken,” he said, “for the thoughts often fancy what the heart wishes; but these were notes like the low tones of the Delaware.”

“Do the dead of the savages ever walk?” demanded Cap.

“Ay, and run too, in their happy hunting-grounds, but nowhere else.  A red-skin finishes with the ’arth, after the breath quits the body.  It is not one of his gifts to linger around his wigwam when his hour has passed.”

“I see some object on the water,” whispered Mabel, whose eye had not ceased to dwell on the body of gloom, with close intensity, since the disappearance of Jasper.

“It is the canoe,” returned the guide, greatly relieved.  “All must be safe, or we should have heard from the lad.”

In another minute the two canoes, which became visible to those they carried only as they drew near each other, again floated side by side, and the form of Jasper was recognized at the stern of his own boat.  The figure of a second man was seated in the bow; and, as the young sailor so wielded his paddle as to bring the face of his companion near the eyes of the Pathfinder and Mabel, they both recognized the person of the Delaware.

“Chingachgook —­ my brother!” said the guide in the dialect of the other’s people, a tremor shaking his voice that betrayed the strength of his feelings.  “Chief of the Mohicans!  My heart is very glad.  Often have we passed through blood and strife together, but I was afraid it was never to be so again.”