The tone—­the manner—­the whole demeanor of Mr. Heywood carried conviction with his denial, and his wife at once expressed her determination to renounce for his sake, all those local ties and associations by which she had been surrounded from childhood, and follow his fortunes, whithersoever they might lead.  This, she persisted, she was the more ready and willing to do, because her daughter’s education having been some months completed, under the best masters, there was now no anxiety on her account, other than what might arise from her own sense of the contemplated change.

Maria Heywood was accordingly summoned to the consultation —­made acquainted with her father’s position, and the necessity for his instant departure from that section of the country—­and finally told that with her it rested to decide, not only whether he should go alone, but if they accompanied him, whether it should be to Europe, or to the Far West.

“Rest with me to decide!” exclaimed the warm-hearted girl as she threw herself into her mother’s arms.  “Oh, how good of you both thus to consult me, whose duty it is to obey.  But do not think that it is any privation for me to leave this.  I cannot claim the poor merit of the sacrifice.  I have no enjoyment in cities.  Give me the solitude of nature, books, and music, and I will live in a wigwam without regret.”

“Dear enthusiast,” said Mrs. Heywood, pressing her fondly to her heart; “I knew well in what spirit would be your answer.  You decide then for the Far West?”

“Oh, yes, dear mamma! the Far West for me—­no Europe.  Give me the tall, dense forests of our own noble land!  I desire no other home—­long have I pictured to myself the vast lakes—­the trackless woods and the boundless prairies of that region of which I have read so much, and now,” she concluded, with exaltation, “my fondest wishes will be realized, and I shall pass my life in the midst of them.  But, dear papa, to what particular spot do we go?”

“To Chicago, my noble girl!  It is the remotest of our Western possessions, and quite a new country.  There I may hope to pass unheeded, but how will you, dear Maria, endure being buried alive there, when so many advantages await you here?”

“Only figuratively, papa,” she replied with a pensive smile stealing over her fine intellectual features.  “Have no fear for me on that score, for depend upon it, with so much natural beauty to interest, it will be my own fault, if I suffer myself to be buried alive.  What think you, dear mamma?”

“I think with you, my child,” replied Mrs. Heywood, looking approvingly at her daughter, “that it is our duty, as it assuredly will be our pleasure to accompany your father wherever he may go.”