 27 The only amaranthian flower on earth is virtue, the only lasting treasure—truth, attributed to Calper. The reader must imagine some of the occurrences that followed the sudden death of Muir. While his body was in the hands of his soldiers, who laid it decently aside and covered it with a great coat, Chinggachcook silently resumed his place at the fire, and both Sunglye and Pathfinder remarked that he carried a fresh and bleeding scalp at his girdle. No one asked any questions, and the former, although perfectly satisfied that Arrowhead had fallen, manifested neither curiosity nor feeling. He continued calmly, eating his soup, as if the meal had been tranquil as usual. There was something of pride and of an assumed indifference to fate, imitated from the Indians and all this, and there was more that really resulted from practice, habitual self-command, and constitutional heartyhood. With Pathfinder the case was a little different in feeling, though much the same in appearance. He disliked Muir, whose smooth-tongued courtesy was little in accordance with his own frank and ingenuous nature. But he had been shocked at this unexpected and violent death, though accustomed to similar scenes, and he had been surprised at the exposure of his treachery. With a view to ascertain the extent of the latter, as soon as the body was removed, he began to question the captain on the subject. The latter, having no particular motive for secrecy now that his agent was dead, in the course of the breakfast revealed the following circumstances which will serve to clear up some of the minor incidents of our tale. Soon after the Fifty-Fifth appeared on the frontiers, Muir had volunteered his services to the enemy. In making his offers he boasted of his intimacy with Lundy, and the means it afforded of furnishing more accurate and important information than usual. His terms had been accepted, and M. Saint-Gliet had several interviews with him in the vicinity of the fort at Oswego, and had actually passed one entire night secreted in the kerosene. Arrowhead, however, was the usual channel of communication, and the anonymous letter to Major Duncan had been originally written by Muir, transmitted to Frontenac, copied, and sent back by the Tuscarora, who was returning from that errand when captured by the scud. It is scarcely necessary to add that Jasper was to be sacrificed in order to conceal the quartermaster's treason, and that the position of the island had been betrayed to the enemy by the latter. An extraordinary compensation, that which was found in his purse, had induced him to accompany the party under Sergeant Dunham in order to give the signals that were to bring on the attack. The disposition of Muir towards the sex was a natural weakness, and he would have married Mabel, or anyone else who would accept his hand, but his admiration of her was in a great degree feigned in order that he might have an excuse for accompanying the party without sharing in the responsibility of its defeat, or incurring the risk of having no other strong and seemingly sufficient motive. Much of this was known to Captain Songlier, particularly the parting connection with Mabel, and he did not fail to let his auditors into the whole secret, frequently laughing in a sarcastic manner as he revealed the different expedience of the luckless quartermaster. Tu'chela said the cold-blooded partisan, holding out his sinewy hand to Pathfinder when he ended his explanations. You'll be honnête, and that is beaucoup. We take the spy, as we take la medicine, for de goud, mais je l'ai détest. Tu'chela. I'll shake your hand, Captain. I will, for you're a lawful and natural enemy, returned Pathfinder, and a manful one, but the body of the quartermaster shall never disgrace English ground. I did intend to carry it back to Lundy that he might place his bagpipes over it, but now it shall lie here on the spot where he acted as villainy, and have his own treason for a headstone. Captain Flintyhart, I suppose this consorting with traitors is a part of a soldier's regular business, but I tell you honestly, it is not to my liking, and I'd rather it should be you than I who had this affair on his conscience. What an awful sinner! To plot, right and left, again country, friends, and the Lord! Jasper, boy, a word with you aside for a single minute. Jasper now led the young man apart, and squeezing his hand with the tears in his own eyes, he continued, You know me, Odus, and I know you, said he. And this news has not changed my opinion of you in any manner. I never believed their tales, though it looks solemn at one minute I will own. Yes, it did look solemn, and it made me feel solemn, too. I never suspected you for a minute, for I know your gifts don't lie that away. But I must own, I didn't suspect the quartermaster, neither. And he holding the Majesty's commission, Pathfinder! It isn't so much that, Jasper Western. It isn't so much that. He held a commission from God to act right, and to deal fairly with his fellow creatures, and he has failed awfully in his duty. To think of his pretending love for one like Mabel, too, when he felt none. That was bad, certainly. The fellow must have had mingle-blood in his veins. The man that deals unfairly by a woman can be but a mongrel lad, for the Lord has made them helpless on purpose that we may gain their love by kindness and services. He was the sergeant, poor man, on his dying bed. He has given me his daughter for a wife, and Mabel, dear girl. She has consented to it, and it makes me feel that I have two welfares to look after, two natures to care for, and two hearts to gladden. Ah, it's me, Jasper. I sometimes feel that I'm not good enough for that sweet child. Odus had nearly gasped for breath when he first heard of this intelligence, and though he succeeded in suppressing any other outward signs of agitation, his cheek was blanched nearly to the paleness of death. Still he found means to answer not only with firmness but with energy. Say not so, Pathfinder. You are good enough for a queen. Aye, aye, boy, according to your ideas of my goodness, that is to say, I can kill a deer or even a mingo at need with any man on the lines, or I can follow a forest path with his true an eye or read the stars when others do not understand them. No doubt, Mabel will have venison enough, and fish enough, and pigeons enough. But will she have knowledge enough, and will she have ideas enough, and pleasant conversation enough when life comes to drag a little, and each of us begins to pass for our true value? If you pass for your value, Pathfinder, the greatest lady in the land would be happy with you. On that head you have no reason to feel afraid. Now, Jasper, I dare to say you think so. Nay, I know you do, for it is natural, and according to friendship, for people to look over favorably at them they love. Yes, yes, if I had to marry you, boy, I should give myself no concern about my being well looked upon, for you have always shown a disposition to see me in all I do with friendly eyes. But a young gal, after all, must wish to marry a man that is nearer to her own age and fancies, than to have one old enough to be her father, and rude enough to frighten her. I wonder, Jasper, that Mabel never took a fancy to you now, rather than setting her mind on me. Take a fancy to me, Pathfinder! return the young man, endeavoring to clear his voice without betraying himself. What is there about me to please such a girl as Mabel Dunham? I have all that you find fought with within yourself, with none of that excellence that makes even the generals respect you. Well, well, it's all chance, say what we will about it. Here have I journeyed and guided through the woods, female after female, and consorted with them in the garrisons, and never have I even felt an inclination for any, until I saw Mabel Dunham. It's true the poor sergeant first set me to thinking about his daughter, but after we got a little acquainted like, I'd no need of being spoken to to think of her night and day. I'm tough, Jasper. Yes, I'm very tough, and I'm resolute enough, as you all know, and yet I do think it would quite break me down now to lose Mabel Dunham. We will talk no more of it, Pathfinder. Returning his friend's squeeze of the hand, and moving back towards the fire, though slowly, and in the manner of one who cared little where he went. We will talk no more of it. You are worthy of Mabel, and Mabel is worthy of you. You like Mabel? And Mabel likes you. Her father has chosen you for her husband, and no one has a right to interfere. As for the quartermaster, his feigning love for Mabel is worse even than his treason to the king. By this time they were so near the fire that it was necessary to change the conversation. Luckily, at that instant, Cap, who had been in the blocking company with his dying brother-in-law, and who knew nothing of what had passed since the capitulation, now appeared, walking with a meditative and melancholy air towards the group. Much of that hardy dogmatism that imparted even to his ordinary air and demeanor an appearance of something like contempt for all around him, had disappeared, and he seemed thoughtful, if not meek. "'This death, gentlemen,' said he, when he had got sufficiently near, "'is a melancholy business. Make the best of it. Now here is Sergeant Dunham, a very good soldier, I make no question, about to slip his cable, and yet he holds on to the better end of it, as if he was determined it should never run out of the haws-hole, and all because he loves his daughter, it seems to me. For my part, when a friend is really under the necessity of making a long journey, I always wish him well and happily off.' "'You wouldn't kill the Sergeant before his time,' Pathfinder reproachfully answered. "'Life is sweet, even to the aged, and for that matter I've known some that seem to set much store by it when it got to be of the least value.' Nothing had been further from Cap's real thoughts than the wish to hasten his brother-in-law's end. He had found himself embarrassed with the duties of smoothing a death-bed, and all he had meant was to express a sincere desire that the Sergeant were happily rid of doubt and suffering. A little shocked, therefore, at the interpretation that had been put on his words, he rejoined with some of the asperity of the man, though rebuked by a consciousness of not having done his own wishes justice. "'You are too old and too sensible a person, Pathfinder,' said he, "'to fetch a man up with a surge when he is paying out his ideas in distress as it might be. Sergeant Dunham is both my brother-in-law and my friend. That is to say, as intimate a friend as a soldier well can be with a seafaring man, and I respect and honor him accordingly. I make no doubt, moreover, that he has lived such a life as becomes a man, and there can be no great harm, after all, in wishing any one well birthed in heaven. Well, we are mortal, the best of us. That you'll not deny, and it ought to be a lesson not to feel pride in our strength and beauty. Where is the quartermaster, Pathfinder? It is proper he should come and have a parting word with the poor Sergeant, who is only going a little before us. "'You have spoken more truth, Master Cap, than you've been knowing to. All this time. You might have gone further not with standing and said that we are mortal, though worst of us, which is quite as true, and a good deal more wholesome than saying that we are mortal, the best of us. As for the quartermaster's coming to speak a parting word to the Sergeant, it is quite out of the question, seeing that he has gone ahead, and that too with little parting notice to himself or to any one else. "'You are not quite so clear as common in your language, Pathfinder. I know that we ought all to have solemn thoughts on these occasions, but I see no use in speaking in parables. If my words are not plain the idea is. In short, Master Cap, while Sergeant Dunham has been preparing himself for a long journey, like a conscientious and honest man as he is, deliberately, the quartermaster has started in a hurry before him, and although it is a matter on which it does not become me to be very positive, I give it is my opinion that they travel such different roads that they will never meet. "'Explain yourself, my friend,' said the bewildered seaman, looking around him in search of Muir, whose absence began to excite his trust. I see nothing of the quartermaster, but I think him too much of a man to run away, now that the victory is gained. If the fight were ahead instead of in our wake, the case would be altered." There lies all that is left of him beneath that gray coat. Returned the guide, who then briefly related the manner of the lieutenant's death. The Tuscarora was as venomous in his blow as a rattler, though he failed to give the warning, continued Pathfinder. I've seen many a desperate fight and several of these sudden outbreaks of savage temper, but never before did I see a human soul quit the body more unexpectedly, or at a worse moment for the hopes of the dying man. His breath was stopped with a lie on his lips, and the spirit might be said to have passed away in the very ardor of wickedness. Tap listened with a gaping mouth, and he gave two or three violent hymns, as the other concluded, like one who distrusted his own respiration. This is an uncertain and uncomfortable life of yours, Master Pathfinder. What between the fresh water and the savages, said he, and the sooner I get quit of it, the higher will be my opinion of myself. Now you mention it, I will say that the man ran for that birth in the rocks, when the enemy first bore down upon us with a sort of instinct that I thought surprising in an officer, but I was in too great a hurry to follow to log the whole matter accurately. God bless me. God bless me, a traitor, do you say, and ready to sell his country, and to a rascally Frenchman, too. To sell anything, country, soul, body, mable, and all our scalps, and no ways particular I'll engage as to the purchaser. The countrymen of Captain Flintyhard here were the paymasters this time. Just like them, ever ready to buy when they can't thrash, and to run when they can do neither. Messieurs Senglier lifted his cap with ironical gravity, and acknowledged the compliment with an expression of polite contempt that was altogether lost on its insensible object. But Pathfinder had too much native courtesy, and was far too just-minded to allow the attack to go unnoticed. Well, well, he interposed. To my mind there is no great difference between an Englishman and a Frenchman, after all. They talk different tongues, and live under different kings I will allow. But both are human, and feel like human beings when there is occasion for it. Captain Flintyhard, as Pathfinder called him, made another obeisance. But this time the smile was friendly and not ironical, for he felt that the intention was good, whatever might have been the mode of expressing it. Too philosophical, however, to heed what a man like Cap might say or think, he finished his breakfast without allowing his attention to be again diverted from that important pursuit. My business here was principally with the quartermaster. As soon as he had done regarding the prisoner's pantomime, the sergeant must be near his end, and I have thought he might wish to say something to his successor in authority before he finally departed. It is too late, it would seem, and as you say, Pathfinder, the lieutenant has truly gone before. That he has, though on a different path. As for authority, I suppose the corporal has now a right to command what's left of the fifty-fifth, though a small and worried, not to say frightened party it is. But if anything needs to be done, the chances are greatly in favor of my being called on to do it. I suppose, however, we have only to bury our dead, set fire to the block and the huts, for they stand in the enemy's territory by position, if not by law, and must not be left for their convenience. Our using them again is out of the question, for now the Frenchers know where the island is to be found, it would be like thrusting the hand into a wolf-trap with their eyes wide open. This part of the work the sergeant and I will see to, for we are as practiced in retreats as in advances. All that is very well, my good friend, and now for my poor brother-in-law, although he is a soldier, we cannot let him slip without a word of consolation and a leaf-taking in my judgment. This has been an unlucky affair on every tack, though I suppose it is what one had a right to expect considering the state of the times and the nature of the navigation. We must make the best of it and try to help the worthy man to unmoor without straining his messengers. Death is a circumstance, after all, Master Pathfinder, and one of a very general character, too, seeing that we must all submit to it sooner or later. You say truth, you say truth, and for that reason I hold it to be wise to be always ready. I've often thought, salt-water, that he is the happiest who has the least to leave behind him when the summons comes. Now here am I, a hunter and a scout and a guide, on a foot of land on earth. Yet do I enjoy and possess more than the great Albany Patroon. With the heavens over my head to keep me in mind of the last great hunt, and the dried leaves beneath my feet, I tramp over the ground as freely as if I was its lord and owner, and what more need heart desire. I do not say that I love nothing that belongs to earth, for I do, although not much, unless it might be Mabel Dunham, that I can't carry with me. I have some pups at the higher fort that I value considerably, though they are too noisy for warfare, and so we are compelled to live separate for a while. And then I think it would grieve me to part with Kildere, but I see no reason why we should not be buried in the same grave, for we are as near as can be of the same length, six feet to a hare's breath. But baiting these, and a pipe that the serpent gave me, and a few tokens received from travelers, all of which might be put in a pouch and laid under my head, when the order comes to march I shall be ready at a minute's warning. And let me tell you, Master Cap, that's what I call a circumstance, too. "'Tis just so with me,' answered the sailor, as the two walked towards the block, too much occupied with their respective morality to remember at the moment the melancholy errand they were on. "'That's just my way of feeling and reasoning. How often have I felt, when near shipwreck, the relief of not owning the craft? If she goes, I have said to myself, Why, my life goes with her, but not my property, and there's great comfort in that. I've discovered, in the course of boxing about the world from the horn to Cape North, not to speak of this run on a bit of fresh water, that if a man has a few dollars and puts them in a chest under lock and key, he is pretty certain to fasten up his heart in the same till. And so I carry pretty much all I own in a belt round my body, in order, as I say, to keep the vitals in the right place. Damn, may Pathfinder, if I think a man without a heart any better than a fish with a hole in his airbag! I don't know how that may be, Master Cap, but a man without a conscience is but a poor creature. Take my word for it, as any one will discover who has to do with a mingo. I trouble myself but little with dollars or half-jos, for these are the favorite coin in this part of the world. But I can easily believe, by what I've seen of mankind, that if a man has a chest filled with either, he may be said to lock up his heart in the same box. I once hunted for two summers, during the last peace, and I collected so much peltry that I found my right feelings giving way to a craving after property. And if I have concern in marrying Mabel, it is that I may get to love such things too well in order to make her comfortable. You're a philosopher! That's clear, Pathfinder, and I don't know, but you're a Christian. I should be out of humor with the man that gains aid the last, Master Cap. I have not been Christianized by the Moravians like so many of the Delaware's. It is true. But I hold to Christianity and white gifts. With me it is as uncreditable for a white man not to be a Christian, as it is for a red skin not to believe in his happy hunting grounds. Indeed, after allowing for difference in traditions, and in some variations about the manner in which the spirit will be occupied after death, I hold that a good Delaware is a good Christian, though he never saw a Moravian, and a good Christian a good Delaware, so far as nature is concerned. The Sarpin and I talk these matters over often, for he has a hankering after Christianity. The devil he has! interrupted Cap. And what does he intend to do in a church with all the scalps he takes? Don't run away with a false idea, friend Cap. Don't run away with a false idea. These things are only skin deep, and all depend on education and natural gifts. Look around you at mankind, and tell me why you see a red warrior here, a black one there, and white armies in another place. All this, and a great deal more of the same kind that I could point out, has been ordered for some special purpose, and is not for us to fly in the face of facts and deny their truth. No, no, each color has its gifts, and its laws, and its traditions, and one is not to condemn another because he does not exactly comprehend it. You must have read a great deal, Pathfinder, to see things so clear as this. Returned Cap, not a little mystified by his companion's simple creed. It's all as plain as day to me now, though I must say I never fell in with these opinions before. What denomination do you belong to, my friend? Anon? What sect do you hold out for? What particular church do you fetch up in? Look about you, and judge for yourself. I'm in church now. I eat in church, drink in church, sleep in church. The earth is the temple of the Lord, and I wait on him hourly, daily, without ceasing, I humbly hope. No, no, I'll not deny my blood and color, but am Christian born, and shall die in the same faith. The Moravians tried me hard, and one of the king's chaplains has had his say, too, so that's a class no way strenuous on such matters. And a missionary sent from Rome talked much with me, as I guided him through the forest during the last peace. But I've had one answer for them all. I'm a Christian already, and want to be neither Moravian nor Churchman nor Papist. No, no, I'll not deny my birth and blood. I think a word from you might lighten the sergeant over the shoals of death, Master Pathfinder. He has no one with him but poor Mabel, and she, you know, besides being his daughter, is but a girl and a child after all. Mabel is feeble in body, friend Cap, but in matters of this nature I doubt if she may not be stronger than most men. But Sergeant Dunham is my friend, and he is your brother-in-law. So now the press of fighting and maintaining our rights is over, is fitting we should both go and witness his departure. I've stood by many a dying man, Master Cap, continued Pathfinder, who had a besetting propensity to enlarge on his experience, stopping and holding his companion by a button. I stood by many a dying man's side, and seen his last gasp, and heard his last breath. For when the hurry and tumult of the battle is over, it is good to bethink us of the misfortunate, and it is remarkable to witness how differently human nature feels at such solemn moments. Some go their way as stupid and ignorant as if God had never given them reason and an accountable state, while others quit us rejoicing, like men who leave heavy burdens behind them. I think that the mind sees clearly at such moments, my friend, and that past deeds stand thick before the recollection. I'll engage they do, Pathfinder. I have witnessed something of this myself, and I hope I'm the better man for it. I remember once that I thought my own time had come, and the log was overhauled with a diligence I did not think myself capable of until that moment. I've not been a very great sinner, friend Pathfinder, that is to say, never on a large scale. Though I dare say, if the truth were spoken, a considerable amount of small matters might be raked up against me, as well as against another man. But then I've never committed piracy, nor high treason, nor arson, nor any of them sort of things. As to smuggling, and the like of that, why, I'm a seafaring man, and I suppose all colons have their weak spots. I dare say your trade is not altogether without blemish, honorable and useful as it seems to be. Many of the scouts and guides are desperate knaves, and like the quartermaster here some of them take pay of both sides. I hope I'm not one of them, though all occupations lead to temptations. Thrice have I been sorely tried in my life, and once I yielded a little, though I hope it was not in a matter to disturb a man's conscience in his last moments. The first time was when I found in the woods a pack of skins that I knowed belonged to a Frencher who was hunting on our side of the lines, where he had no business to be. Twenty-six as handsome beavers as ever gladdened human eyes. Well, that was a sore temptation, for I thought the law would have been almost with me, although it was in peacetime. But then I remembered that such laws wasn't made for us hunters, and b'thought me that the poor man might have built great expectations for the next winter on the sale of his skins, and I left them where they lay. Most of our people said I did wrong, but the matter in which I slept that night convinced me that I had done right. The next trial was when I found the rifle that is certainly the only one in this part of the world that can be calculated on as surely as killed ear, and knowed that by taking it, or even hiding it, I might at once rise to be the first shot in all these parts. I was then young, and by no means so ex-part as I have since got to be, and youth is ambitious and striving. But God be praised! I mastered that feeling, and friend cap, what is almost as good, I mastered my rival in his fairest shooting-match as was ever witnessed in a garrison. He with his peace, and I with kill-deer, and before the general in person too. Here Pathfinder stopped to laugh, his triumph still glittering in his eyes and glowing on his sunburnt and brown cheek. Well, the next conflict with the devil was the hardest of them all, and that was when I came suddenly upon a camp of six mingos asleep in the woods, with their guns and horns piled in a way that enabled me to get possession of them without waking a miscreant of them all. What an opportunity that would have been for the serpent, who would have dispatched them one after another with his knife, and had their six scalps at his girdle in about the time it takes me to tell you the story. Oh, he's a valiant warrior, that chingach-gook, and as honest as he's brave, and as good as he's honest. And what may you have done in this matter, Master Pathfinder, demanded cap, who began to be interested in the result. It seems to me you had made either a very lucky or a very unlucky landfall. Twas lucky, and twas unlucky, if you can understand that. Twas unlucky for it proved a desperate trial, and yet twas lucky, all things considered, in the end. I did not touch a hair of their heads, for a white man has no natural gifts to take scalps, nor did I even make sure of one of their rifles. I distrusted myself, knowing that a mingo was no favorite in my own eyes. As for the scalps, I think you were right enough, my worthy friend, but as for the armament and the stores, they would have been condemned by any prize court in Christendom. That they would. That they would. But then the mingos would have gone clear, seeing that a white man could no more attack an unarmed than a sleeping enemy. No, no, I did myself, and my color, and my religion, too, greater justice. I waited till their nap was over, and they well on their war-path again, and by ambushing them here and flanking them there, I peppered the black-guards intrinsically like—pathfinder occasionally caught a fine word from his associates and used it a little vaguely—that only one ever got back to his village, and he came into his wigwam limping. Luckily, as it turned out, the great Delaware had only halted to jerk some venison, and was following on my trail, and when he got up, he had five of the scoundrel's scalps hanging where they ought to be. So you see, nothing was lost by doing right, either in the way of honor or in that of profit. Cap grunted innocent, though the distinctions in his companion's morality it must be owned were not exactly clear to his understanding. The two had occasionally moved towards the block as they conversed, and then stopped again as some matter of more interest than common brought them to a halt. They were now so near the building, however, that neither thought of pursuing the subject any further, but each prepared himself for the final scene with Sergeant Dunham. CHAPTER XXVIII While barren ground, whom winter's wrath hath wasted, art made a mirror to behold my plight. While o'er thy fresh spring flowered, and after hasted thy summer proud, with deaf dillies' diet, and now has come thy winter's stormy state, thy mantle mired, wherein thou masketh's late. ATTRIBUTED DISPENSOR Although the soldier may regard danger and even death within difference in the tumult of battle, when the passage of the soul is delayed to moments of tranquility and reflection, the change commonly brings with it the usual train of solemn reflections, of regrets for the past, and of doubts and anticipations for the future. Many a man has died with a heroic expression on his lips, but with heaviness and distrust at his heart, for whatever may be the varieties of our religious creeds let us depend on the mediation of Christ, the dogmas of Muhammad, or the elaborated allegories of the East. There is a conviction, common to all men, that death is but the stepping stone between this and a more elevated state of being. Sergeant Dunham was a brave man, but he was departing for a country in which resolution could avail him nothing, and as he felt himself gradually loosened from the grasp of the world, his thoughts and feelings took the natural direction, for if it be true that death is the great leveler, in nothing is it more true than that it reduces all to the same views of the vanity of life. Pathfinder, though a man of peculiar habits and opinions, was always thoughtful and disposed to view the things around him with a shade of philosophy as well as with seriousness. In him, therefore, the scene in the blockhouse awakened no very novel feelings, but the case was different with Cap. Rude, opinionated, dogmatical and boisterous, the old sailor was little accustomed to view even death with any approach to the gravity which its importance demands, and notwithstanding all that had passed, and his real regard for his brother-in-law, he now entered the room of the dying man with much of that callous unconcern, which was the fruit of long training in a school that, while it gives so many lessons in the sublimest truths, generally waste its admonitions on scholars who are little disposed to profit by them. The first proof that Cap gave of his not entering so fully as those around him into the solemnity of the moment was by commencing a narration of the events which had just led to the deaths of Muir and Arrowhead. Both tripped their anchors in a hurry, brother Dunham, he concluded, and you have the consolation of knowing that others have gone before you in the great journey, and they too, men whom you've no particular reason to love, which to me, were I placed in your situation, would be a source of very great satisfaction. My mother always said, Master Pathfinder, that dying people's spirits should not be damped, but that they ought to be encouraged by all proper and prudent means, and this news will give the poor fellow a great lift if he feels towards them savages any way as I feel myself. June arose at this intelligence and stole from the blockhouse with a noiseless step. Dunham listened with a vacant stare, for life had already lost so much of its ties that he had really forgotten Arrowhead and cared nothing from Muir, but he inquired in a feeble voice for Odus. The young man was immediately summoned and soon made his appearance. The sergeant gazed at him kindly, and the expression of his eyes was that of regret for the injury he had done him in thought. The party in the blockhouse now consisted of Pathfinder, Cap, Mabel, Jasper, and the dying man. With the exception of the daughter, all stood around the sergeant's pallet in attendance in his last moments. Mabel kneeled at his side, now pressing a clammy hand to her head, now applying moisture to the parched lips of her father. Your case will shortly be ours, sergeant, said Pathfinder, who could hardly be said to be awestruck by the scene, for he had witnessed the approach and victories of death too often for that, but who felt the full difference between his triumphs and the excitement of battle and in the quiet of the domestic circle. And I make no question we shall meet again hereafter. That has gone his way, it is true, but it can never be the way of a just Indian. You've seen the last of him, for his path cannot be the path of the just. Reason is again the thought in his case, as it is also in my judgment, again it too in the case of Lieutenant Muir. You have done your duty in life, and when a man does that, he may start on the longest journey with a light heart and an active foot. I hope so, my friend. I've tried to do my duty. Aye, aye, putting cap. Intention is half the battle, and though you would have done better had you hoved too in the offing and set a craft in to feel how the land lay. Things might have turned out differently. No one here doubts that you met all for the best, and no one anywhere else, I should think, from what I've seen of this world and read of the other. I did, yes. I met all for the best. Father, oh, my beloved father! Magnet is taken aback by this bloke, Master Pathfinder, and can say or do but little to carry her father over the shoals, so we must try all the harder to serve him a friendly turn ourselves. Did you speak, Mabel? Dunham asked, turning his eyes in the direction of his daughter, for he was already too feeble to turn his body. Yes, Father, rely on nothing you have done yourself for mercy and salvation. Trust altogether in the blessed mediation of the Son of God. The chaplain has told us something like this, brother. The dear child may be right. Aye, aye, that's doctrine, not a question. He will be our judge, and keeps the logbook of our acts, and will foot them all up at the last day, and then say who has done well and who has done ill. I do believe Mabel is right, but then you need not be concerned, as no doubt the account has been fairly kept. Uncle, dearest father, this is a vain illusion. Oh, place all your trust in the mediation of our holy redeemer. Have you not often felt your own insufficiency to affect your own wishes and the commonest things? And how can you imagine yourself, by your own acts, equal to raise up a frail and sinful nature, sufficiently to be received into the presence of perfect purity? There is no hope for any but in the mediation of Christ. This is what the Moravians used to tell us, said Pathfinder to Cap in a low voice. Rely on it. Mabel is right. Good enough, friend Pathfinder, in the distances, but wrong in the course. I'm afraid the child will get the sergeant adrift at the very moment when we had him in the best of water, and in the plainest part of the channel. Leave it to Mabel. Leave it to Mabel. She knows better than any of us, and can do no harm. I have heard this before. Dunham at length replied, Ah, Mabel, it is strange for the parent to lean on the child at a moment like this. Put your trust in God, Father, lean on his holy and compassionate son. Pray, dearest, dearest Father, pray for his omnipotent support. I am not used to prayer. Brother, Pathfinder, Jasper, can you help me to words? Cap scarcely knew what prayer meant, and he had no answer to give. Pathfinder prayed often, daily, if not hourly, but it was mentally, in his own simple modes of thinking, and without the aid of words at all. In this strait, therefore, he was as useless as the mariner, and had no reply to make. As for Jasper Oduce, though he would gladly have endeavoured to move a mountain to relieve Mabel, this was asking assistance it exceeded his power to give, and he shrank back with the shame that is only too apt to overcome the young invigorous when called on to perform an act that tacitly confesses their real weakness and dependence on a superior power. Father, said Mabel, wiping her eyes and endeavouring to compose features that were pallid and actually quivering with emotion. I will pray with you, for you, for myself, for us all. The petition of the feeblest and humblest is never unheeded. There was something sublime, as well as much that was supremely touching in this act of filial piety. The quiet but earnest manner in which this young creature prepared herself to perform the duty, the self-abandonment with which she forgot her sexist timidity and sexist shame, in order to sustain her parent at that trying moment, the loftiness of purpose with which she directed all her powers to the immense object before her, with a woman's devotion and a woman's superiority to trifles, when her affections make the appeal and the holy calm into which her grief was compressed, rendered her for the moment an object of something very like awe and veneration to her companions. Mabel had been religiously educated, equally without exaggeration and without self-sufficiency. Her reliance on God was cheerful and full of hope, while it was of the humblest and most dependent nature. She had been accustomed from childhood to address herself to the deity in prayer, taking example from the divine mandate of Christ himself, who commanded his followers to abstain from vain repetitions, and it was left behind him a petition which is unequaled for sublimity, as if expressly to rebuke the disposition of man to set up his own loose and random thoughts as the most acceptable sacrifice. The sect in which he had been reared has furnished to its followers some of the most beautiful compositions in the language, as a suitable vehicle for its devotion and solicitations. Accustomed to this mode of public and even private prayer, the mind of our heroine had naturally fallen into its train of lofty thought, her task had become improved by its study, and her language elevated and enriched by its phrases. When she kneeled at the bedside of her father, the very reverence of her attitude and manner prepared the spectators for what was to come, and as her affectionate heart prompted her tongue, and memory came in aid of both, the petition and praises that she offered up were of a character which might have worthily led the spirits of angels. Although the words were not slavishly borrowed, the expressions partook of the simple dignity of the liturgy to which she had been accustomed, and was probably as worthy of the being to whom they were addressed as they could well be made by human powers. They produced their full impression on the hearers, for it is worthy of remark that, notwithstanding the pernicious effects of a false taste when long submitted to, real sublimity and beauty are so closely allied to nature that they generally find an echo in every heart. But when our heroine came to touch upon the situation of the dying man, she became the most truly persuasive, for then she was the most truly zealous and natural. The beauty of the language was preserved, but it was sustained by the simple power of love, and her words were warmed by a holy zeal that approached to the grandeur of true eloquence. We might record some of her expressions, but doubt the propriety of subjecting such sacred themes to a too familiar analysis, and refrain. The effect of this singular but solemn scene was different on the different individuals present. Dunham himself was soon lost in the subject of the prayer, and he felt some such relief as one who finds himself staggering on the edge of a precipice under a burden difficult to be borne, might be supposed to experience when he unexpectedly feels the weight removed in order to be placed on the shoulders of another better able to sustain it. Cap was surprised, as well as awed, though the effects on his mind were not very deep or very lasting. He wondered a little at his own sensations and had his doubts whether they were so manly and heroic as they ought to be, but he was far too sensible of the influence of truth, humility, religious submission, and human dependency to think of interposing with any of his crude objections. Jasper knelt opposite to Mabel, covered his face, and followed her words, with an earnest wish to aid her prayers with his own, though it may be questioned if his thoughts did not dwell quite as much on the soft, gentle accents of the petitioner as on the subject of her intention. The effect on Pathfinder was striking and visible, visible because he stood erect, also opposite to Mabel, and the workings of his countenance as usual portrayed the workings of the spirit within. He leaned on his rifle, and at moments the sinewy fingers grasped the barrel with a force that seemed to compress the weapon, while once or twice, as Mabel's language rose in intimate association with her thoughts, he lifted his eyes to the floor above him as if he expected to find some visible evidence of the presence of the dread being to whom the words were addressed. Then again his feelings reverted to the fair creature who was thus pouring out her spirit, in fervent but calm petitions, in behalf of a dying parent. For Mabel's cheek was no longer pallid, but was flushed with a holy enthusiasm, while her blue eyes were upturned in the light, in a way to resemble a picture by Guido. At these moments all the honest and manly attachment of Pathfinder glowed in his ingenuous features, and his gaze at our heroine was such as the fondest parent might fasten on the child of his love. Sergeant Dunham laid his hand feebly on the head of Mabel as she ceased praying, and buried her face in his blanket. Bless you, my beloved child. Bless you. He rather whispered than uttered aloud, This is truly consolation, wood that I too could pray. Father, you know the Lord's prayer. You taught it to me yourself while I was yet an infant. The sergeant's face gleamed with a smile, for he did remember to have discharged that portion at least of the paternal duty, and the consciousness of it gave him an inconceivable gratification at that solemn moment. He was then silent for several minutes, and all present believed that he was communing with God. Mabel, my child, he at length uttered, in a voice which seemed to be reviving, Mabel, I'm quitting you. The spirit at its great and final passage appears ever to consider the body as nothing. I'm quitting you, my child. Where is your hand? Here, dearest father, here are both. Oh, take both. Pathfinder added the sergeant, feeling on the opposite side of the bed, where Jasper still knelt, and getting one of the hands of the young man by mistake. Take it. I leave you as her father, as you and she may please. Bless you. Bless you both. At that awful instant no one would rudely apprise the sergeant of his mistake, and he died a minute or two later holding Jasper's and Mabel's hands covered by both his own. Our heroine was ignorant of the fact until an exclamation of caps announced the death of her father. When raising her face she saw the eyes of Jasper riveted on her own, and felt the warm pressure of his hand. But a single feeling was predominant at that instant, and Mabel withdrew to weep, scarcely conscious of what had occurred. The Pathfinder took the arm of Odus, and he left the block. The two friends walked in silence past the fire, along the glade, and nearly reached the opposite shore of the island in profound silence. Here they stopped, and Pathfinder spoke. "'Tis all over, Jasper,' said he. "'Tis all over. "'Has me. Poor Sergeant Dunham has finished his march, and that too by the hand of a venomous mingo. Well, we never know what is to happen, and his luck may be yourn or mine to-moral or next day.' "'And Mabel? What is to become of Mabel, Pathfinder?' "'You heard the sergeant's dying words. He has left his child in my care, Jasper. And it is a most solemn trust. It is, yes. It is a most solemn trust. It's a trust Pathfinder of which any man would be glad to relieve you.' Returned the youth with a bitter smile. "'I've often thought it has fallen into wrong hands. I'm not conceded, Jasper. I'm not conceded. I do think I'm not. And if Mabel Dunham is willing to overlook all my imperfections and ignorances like, I should be wronged to gain-say it, on account of any sergeant I may have myself about my own want of merit.' "'No one will blame you, Pathfinder, for marrying Mabel Dunham any more than they will blame you for wearing a precious jewel in your bosom that a friend has freely given you.' "'Do you think they'll blame Mabel, lad? I've had my misgivings about that, too. For all persons may not be so disposed to look at me with the same eyes as you and the sergeant's daughter.' Jasper Odus started as a man flinches at sudden, bodily pain, but he otherwise maintained his self-command. A mankind as envious and ill-natured, more particularly in and about the garrisons. I sometimes wish, Jasper, that Mabel could have taken a fancy to you. I do. And that you had taken a fancy to her. For it often seems to me that one like you, after all, might make her happier than I ever can. "'We will not talk about this, Pathfinder,' interrupted Jasper hoarsely and impatiently. "'You will be Mabel's husband, and it is not right to speak of anyone else in that character. As for me, I shall take Master Cap's advice and try and make a man of myself by seeing what is to be done on the salt water. "'You, Jasper Western, you quit the lakes, the forests, and the lines, and this too for the towns and wasty ways of the settlements, and a little difference in the taste of the water. Haven't we the salt licks, if salt is necessary to you, and autoned men to be satisfied with what contents the other creatures of God? I counted on you, Jasper. I counted on you, I did, and thought, now that Mabel and I intend to dwell in a cabin of our own, that some day you might be tempted to choose a companion, too, and come and settle in our neighborhood. There is a beautiful spot, about fifty miles west of the garrison, that I had chosen in my mind for my own place of abode, and there is an excellent harbor about ten leagues this side of it, where you could run in and out with a cutter at any leisure minute. And I'd even fancied you and your wife in possession of the one place, and Mabel and I in possession of the other. We should be just a healthy hunt apart, and if the Lord ever intends any of his creatures to be happy on earth, none could be happier than we four. "'You forget, my friend,' answered Jasper, taking the guide's hand and forcing a friendly smile, that I have no fourth person to love and cherish, and I much doubt if I ever shall love any other as I love you and Mabel.' "'Thank you, boy. I thank you with all my heart, but what you call love for Mabel is only friendship-like, and a very different thing from what I feel. Now instead of sleeping as sound as nature at midnight, as I used to could, I dream nightly of Mabel Dunham. The young does sport before me, and when I raise kill-deer in order to take a little venison, the animals look back, and it seems as if they all had Mabel's sweet countenance laughing in my face and looking as if they said, "'Shoot me if you dare!' Then I hear her soft voice calling out among the birds as they sing, and no later than the last nap I took. I bethought me, in fancy, of going over the Niagara, holding Mabel in my arms, rather than part from her. The bitterest moments I've ever known were them in which the devil, or some mingo conjurer, perhaps, had just put into my head to fancy in dreams that Mabel is lost to me by some unaccountable calamity, either by changefulness or by violence. "'Oh, Pathfinder, if you think this so bitter in a dream, what must it be to one who feels its reality, and knows it all to be true, true, true? So true is to leave no hope, to leave nothing but despair!' These words burst from Jasper as a fluid pours from the vessel that has been suddenly broken. They were uttered involuntarily, almost unconsciously, but with a truth and feeling that carried with them the instant conviction of their deep sincerity. Pathfinder started, gazed at his friend for full a minute like one bewildered. And then it was that, in despite of all his simplicity, the truth gleamed upon him. All know how corroborating proofs crowd upon the mind as soon as it catches a direct clue to any hitherto unsuspected fact. How rapidly the thoughts flow and premises tend to their just conclusions under such circumstances. Our hero was so confiding by nature, so just, and so much disposed to imagine that all his friends wished him the same happiness as he wished them, that, until this unfortunate moment, a suspicion of Jasper's attachment for Mabel had never been awakened in his bosom. He was, however, now too experienced in the emotions which characterized the passion, and the burst of feeling in his companion was too violent and too natural to leave any further doubt on the subject. The feeling that first followed this change of opinion was one of deep humility, an exquisite pain. He betthought him of Jasper's youth, his higher claims to personal appearance, and all the general probabilities that such a suitor would be more agreeable to Mabel than he could possibly be himself. Then the noble rectitude of mind, for which the man was so distinguished, asserted its power. It was sustained by his rebuked manner of thinking of himself, and all that habitual deference for the rights and feelings of others which appeared to be inbred in his very nature. Taking the arm of Jasper, he led him to a log where he compelled the young man to seat himself by a sort of irresistible exercise of his iron muscles, and where he placed himself at his side. The instant his feelings had found vent, Odus was both alarmed at and ashamed of their violence. He would have given all he possessed on earth could the last three minutes be recalled, but he was too frank by disposition and too much accustomed to deal ingenuously by his friend to think a moment of attempting further concealment, or of any evasion of the explanation that he knew was about to be demanded. Even while he trembled in anticipation of what was about to follow, he never contemplated equivocation. Jasper, Pathfinder commenced, in a tone so solemn as to thrill on every nerve in his listener's body. This has surprised me. You have kinder feelings towards Mabel than I had thought, and unless my own mistake in vanity and conceit have cruelly deceived me, I pity you, boy. From my soul I do. Yes, I think I know how to pity any one who has set his heart on a creature like Mabel, unless he sees a prospect of her regarding him as he regards her. This matter must be cleared up, Odus, as the Delaware's say, until there shall not be a cloud between us. What clearing up can it want, Pathfinder? I love Mabel Dunham, and Mabel Dunham does not love me. She prefers you for a husband, and the wisest thing I can do is to go off at once to the salt water and try to forget you both. Forget me, Jasper. That would be a punishment I don't deserve. But how do you know that Mabel prefers me? How do you know it, lad? To me it seems impossible-like. Is she not to marry you, and would Mabel marry a man she does not love? She has been hard urged by the sergeant she has, and a dutiful child may have found it difficult to withstand the wishes of a dying parent. Have you ever told Mabel that you preferred her, Jasper, that you bore her these feelings? Never, Pathfinder, I would not do you that wrong. I believe you, lad. I do believe you, and I think you would now go off to the salt water and let the scent die with you. But this must not be. Mabel shall hear all, and she shall have her own way if my heart breaks in the trial she shall. No words have ever passed between you, then, Jasper. Nothing of account, nothing direct. Still, I will own all my foolishness, Pathfinder, for I ought to own it to a generous friend like you, and there will be an end of it. You know how young people understand each other, or think they understand each other, without always speaking out in plain speech, and get to know each other's thoughts, or to think they know them by means of a hundred little ways. Not I, Jasper, not I, truly answered the guide, for, sooth to say, his advances had never been met with any of that sweet and precious encouragement which silently marks the course of sympathy united to passion. Not I, Jasper, I know nothing of all this. Mabel has always treated me fairly and said what she has had to say in speech as plain as tongue could tell it. You have had the pleasure of hearing her say that she loved you, Pathfinder? Why no, Jasper, not just that in words. She has told me that we never could, never ought to be married, that she was not good enough for me, though she did say that she honored me and respected me. But then the sergeant said it was always so with the youthful and timid that her mother did so, and said so for her, and that I ought to be satisfied if she would consent on any terms to marry me, and therefore I have concluded that all was right, I have. In spite of all his friendship for the successful wooer, in spite of all his honest, sincere wishes for his happiness, we should be unfaithful chroniclers did we not own that Jasper felt his heart bound with an uncontrollable feeling of delight at this submission. It was not that he saw or felt any hope connected with the circumstance, but it was grateful to the jealous covetousness of unlimited love, thus to learn that no other ears had heard the sweet confessions that were denied its own. Tell me more of this manner of talking without the use of the tongue, continued Pathfinder, whose countenance was becoming grave, and who now questioned his companion like one who seemed to anticipate evil in the reply. I can and have conversed with Chingachuk, and with his son Uncus, too, in that mode, before the latter fell, but I didn't know the young girls practiced this art, and least of all Mabel Dunham. Does nothing, Pathfinder, I mean only a look or a smile or glance of the eye, or the trembling of an arm or a hand when the young woman has had occasion to touch me, and because I have been weak enough to tremble even at Mabel's breath, or her brushing me with her clothes, my vain thoughts have misled me. I never spoke plainly to Mabel myself, and now there is no use for it, since there is clearly no hope. Jasper returned Pathfinder simply, but with a dignity that precluded further remarks at the moment. We will talk of the sergeant's funeral and of our own departure from this island. After these things are disposed of, it will be time enough to say more of the sergeant's daughter. This matter must be looked into, for the father left me the care of his child. Jasper was glad enough to change the subject, and the friends separated, each charged with the duty most peculiar to his own station and habits. That afternoon all the dead were interred, the grave of Sergeant Dunham being dug in the center of the glade, beneath the shade of a huge elm. Mabel wept bitterly at the ceremony, and she found relief and thus disbordening her sorrow. The night passed tranquilly, as did the whole of the following day, Jasper declaring that the gale was too severe to venture on the lake. This circumstance detained Captain Songlier also, who did not quit the island until the morning of the third day, after the death of Dunham, when the weather had moderated and the wind had become fair. Then indeed he departed, after taking leave of the Pathfinder, in the manner of one who believed he was in company of a distinguished character for the last time. The two separated like those who respect one another, while each felt that the other was all enigma to himself. CHAPTER XXIX THE PATHFINDER This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Pathfinder by James Fenimore Cooper. CHAPTER XXIX Playful she turned that he might see the passing smile her cheek put on, but when she marked how mournfully his eyes met hers, that smile was gone. ATTRIBUTED TO LALA RUCH The occurrences of the last few days have been too exciting, and it made too many demands on the fortitude of our heroine to leave her into helplessness of grief. She mourned for her father, and she occasionally shuddered as she recalled the sudden death of Jenny, and all the horrible scenes she had witnessed. But on the whole she had aroused herself and was no longer in the deep depression which usually accompanies grief. Perhaps the overwhelming, almost stupefying sorrow that crushed poor June and left her for nearly twenty-four hours in a state of stupor assisted Mabel in conquering her own feelings, for she had felt called on to administer consolation to the young Indian woman. This she had done in the quiet, soothing, insinuating way in which her sex usually exerts its influence on such occasions. The morning of the third day was set for that on which the scud was to sail. Jasper had made all his preparations, the different effects were embarked, Mabel had taken leave of June, a painful and affectionate parting. In a word all was ready, and every soul had left the island but the Indian woman, Pathfinder, Jasper, and our heroine. The former had gone into a thicket to weep, and the three last were approaching the spot where three canoes lay, one of which was the property of June, and the other two were in waiting to carry the others off to the scud. Pathfinder led the way, but when he drew near the shore, instead of taking the direction to the boats, he motioned to his companions to follow, and proceeded to a fallen tree which lay on the margin of the glade, and out of view of those in the cutter. Seating himself on the trunk, he signed to Mabel to take her place on one side of him, and to Jasper to occupy the other. "'Sit down here, Mabel, sit down there, Odus,' he commenced, as soon as he had taken his own seat. "'I've something that lies heavy on my mind, and now is the time to take it off, if it's ever to be done. Sit down, Mabel, and let me lighten my heart, if not my conscience, while I have the strength to do it.' The pause that succeeded lasted two or three minutes, and both the young people wondered what was to come next. The idea that Pathfinder could have any weight on his conscience seemed equally improbable to each. "'Mabel,' our hero at length, resumed, "'we must talk plainly to each other, before we join your uncle in the cutter, where the salt water has slept every night since the last rally, for he says it's the only place in which a man can be sure of keeping the hair on his head, he does. "'Buzz me! What have I to do with these follies and sayings now?' I try to be pleasant and to feel light-hearted, but the power of man can't make water run upstream. "'Mabel, you know that the sergeant, before he left us, had settled it between us, too, that we were to become man and wife, and that we were to live together and to love one another as long as the Lord was pleased to keep us both on earth. Yes, and afterwards, too.' "'Mabel's cheeks had regained a little of their ancient bloom in the fresh air of the morning, but at this unlooked-for address they blanched again, nearly to the pallid hue which grief had imprinted there. Still she looked kindly, though seriously, at Pathfinder, and even endeavored to force a smile. "'Very true, my excellent friend,' she answered. This was my poor father's wish, and I feel certain that a whole life devoted to your welfare and comforts could scarcely repay you for all you have done for us. "'I fear me, Mabel, that man and wife needs to be bound together by a stronger tie than such feelings, I do. You have done nothing for me, or nothing of any account, and yet my very heart yearns toward you, it does, and therefore it seems likely that these feelings come from something besides saving scalps and guiding through woods.' Mabel's cheek had begun to glow again, and though she struggled hard to smile, her voice trembled a little as she answered. "'Had we not better postpone this conversation, Pathfinder?' she said. "'We are not alone, and nothing is so unpleasant to a listener,' they say, as family matters in which he feels no interest. "'It's because we are not alone, Mabel, or rather because Jasper is with us that I wish to talk to this matter. The sergeant believed I might make a suitable companion for you, and though I had misgivings about it, yes, I had many misgivings. He finally persuaded me into the idea, and things came round between us, as you know. But when you promised your father to marry me, Mabel, and gave me your hand so modestly, but so priddly, there was one circumstance, as your uncle called it, that you didn't know, and I've thought it right to tell you what it is before matters are finally settled. I've often taken a poor dear for my dinner when good venison was not to be found, but it's as natural not to take up with the worst when the best may be had. You speak in a way, Pathfinder, that is difficult to be understood if this conversation is really necessary. I trust you will be more plain. Well, then, Mabel, I've been thinking it was quite likely, when you gave in to the sergeant's wishes, that you did not know the nature of Jasper Western's feelings toward you. Pathfinder, and Mabel's cheek now paled to the livid hue of death, then it flushed to the tint of crimson, and her whole frame shuttered. Pathfinder, however, was too intent on his own object to notice this agitation, and Odus had hidden his face and his hands in time to shut out its view. I've been talking with the lad, and on comparing his dreams with my dreams, his feelings with my feelings, and his wishes with my wishes. I fear we think too much alike concerning you for both of us to be very happy. Pathfinder, you forget. You should remember that we are betrothed," said Mabel hastily, and in a voice so low that it required acute attention in the listeners to catch the syllables. Indeed the last word was not quite intelligible to the guide, and he confessed his ignorance by the usual, Anon, you forget that we are to be married, and such illusions are improper as well as painful. Everything is proper that is right, Mabel, and everything is right that leads to justice and fair dealing. Though it is painful enough, as you say, as I find on trial I do. Now, Mabel, had you known that Odus thinks of you in this way, maybe you never would have consented to be married to one as old and as uncomely as I am. Why this cruel trial, Pathfinder, to what can all this lead? Mr. Western thinks no such thing. He says nothing. He feels nothing. Mabel burst from out of the young man's lips in a way to betray the uncontrollable nature of his emotions, though he uttered not another syllable. Mabel buried her face in both her hands, and the two sat like a pair of guilty beings, suddenly detected in the commission of some crime which involved the happiness of a common patron. That instant, perhaps, Jasper himself was inclined to deny his passion, through an extreme unwillingness to grieve his friend, while Mabel, on whom this positive announcement of a fact that she had rather unconsciously hoped than believed, came so unexpectedly, felt her mind momentarily bewildered, at she scarcely knew whether to weep or to rejoice. Still she was the first to speak, since Odus could utter not that would be disingenuous or that would pain his friend. Pathfinder said she, You talk wildly. Why mention this at all? Well, Mabel, if I talk wildly, I am half-wild, you know, by nature, I fear, as well as by habit. As he said this, he endeavored to laugh in his usual noiseless way, but the effect produced a strange and discordant sound, and it appeared nearly to choke him. Yes, I must be wild. I'll not attempt to deny it. Dearest Pathfinder, my best, almost my only friend, you cannot. Do not think I intended to say that. Interrupted Mabel, almost breathless in her haste to relieve his mortification. If courage, truth, nobleness of soul and conduct, unyielding principles, and a hundred other excellent qualities can render any man respectable, esteemed, or beloved, your claims are inferior to those of no other human being. What tender and bewitching voices they have, Jasper! Resume the guide, now laughing freely and naturally. Yes, nature seems to have made them on purpose to sing in our ears when the music of the woods is silent. But we must come to a right understanding. We must. I ask you again, Mabel, if you had known that Jasper Western loves you as well as I do, or better perhaps, though that is scarcely possible, that in his dreams he sees your face in the water of the lake, that he talks to you and of you in his sleep, fancies all that is beautiful like Mabel Dunham, and all that is good and virtuous, believes he never knowed happiness until he knowed you, could kiss the ground on which you have trod, and forgets all the joys of his calling to think of you and the delight of gazing at your beauty and in listening to your voice, could you then have consented to marry me? Mabel could not have answered this question if she would, but though her face was buried in her hands, the tint of the rushing blood was visible between the openings, and the suffusion seemed to impart itself to her very fingers. Little nature asserted her power, for there was a single instant when the astonished, almost terrified girl stole a glance at Jasper, as if distrusting Pathfinder's history of his feelings. Read the truth of all he said in that furtive look, and instantly concealed her face again as if she would hide it from observation for ever. Take time to think, Mabel, the guide continued, for it is a solemn thing to accept one man for a husband, while the thoughts and wishes lead to another. Jasper and I have talked this matter over, freely and like old friends, and though I always know that we viewed most things pretty much alike, I couldn't have thought that we regarded any particular object with the very same eyes, as it might be, until we opened our minds to each other about you. Now Jasper owns that the very first time he beheld you, he thought you the sweetest and winningest creature he had ever met, that your voice sounded like murmuring water in his ears, that he fancied his sails where your garments fluttering in the wind, that your laugh haunted him in his sleep, and that again and again he started up affrighted because he has fancied someone wanted to force you out of the scud where he imagined you had taken up your abode. Nay! The lad has even acknowledged that he often weeps at the thought that you are likely to spend your days with another, and not with him. Jasper! It's solemn truth, Mabel, and it's right you should know it. Now stand up and choose between us. I do believe Odus loves you as well as I do myself. He has tried to persuade me that he loves you better, but that I will not allow, for I do not think it possible. But I will own the boy loves you heart and soul, and he has a good right to be heard. The sergeant left me your protector and not your tyrant. I told him that I would be a father to you as well as a husband, and it seems to me no feeling father would deny his child this small privilege. Stand up, Mabel, therefore, and speak your thoughts as freely as if I were the sergeant himself, seeking your good and nothing else. Mabel dropped her hands, arose and stood face to face with her two suitors, though the flush that was on her cheeks was feverish, the evidence of excitement rather than of shame. What would you have, Pathfinder? She asked. Have I not already promised my poor father to do all you desire? Then I desire this. Here I stand, a man of the forest and of little learning, though I fear with an ambition beyond my deserts, and I'll do my endeavors to do justice to both sides. In the first place it is allowed that, so far as feelings in your behalf are concerned, we love you just the same. Jasper thinks his feelings must be the strongest, but this I cannot say in honesty, for it doesn't seem to me that it can be true. Else I would frankly and freely confess it. I would. So in this particular, Mabel, we are here before you on equal terms. As for myself, being the oldest, I'll first say what little can be produced in my favor, as well as again it. As a hunter, I do think there is no man near the lines that can outdo me. If venison, or bear's meat, or even birds and fish, should ever be scarce in our cabin, it would be more likely to be owing to nature and providence than to any fault of mine. In short, it does seem to me that the woman who depended on me would never be likely to want for food. But I'm fearful, ignorant. It's true I speak several tongues, such as they be, while I'm very far from being expert at my own. Then my years are greater than your own, Mabel, and the circumstance that I was so long the sergeant's comrade can be no great merit in your eyes. I wish too I was more comely, I do. But we are all as nature made us, and the last thing that a man ought to lament, except on very special occasions, is his looks. When all is remembered, age, looks, learning, and habits, Mabel, conscience tells me I ought to confess that I'm altogether unfit for you, if not downright unworthy. And I would give up the hope this minute I would, if I didn't feel something pulling at my heartstrings, which seems hard to undo. Pathfinder, noble, generous pathfinder, cried our heroine, seizing his hand and kissing it with a species of holy reverence. You do yourself injustice. You forget my poor father and your promise. You do not know me. Now here's Jasper, continued the guide, without allowing the girl's caresses to win him from his purpose. With him the case is different. In the way of providing, as in that of loving, there's not much to choose between us, for the lad is frugal, industrious, and careful. Then he is quite a scholar, knows the tongue of the Frenchers, reads many books, and some I know that you like to read yourself, can understand you at all times, which perhaps is more than I can save for myself. But of all this, interrupted Mabel impatiently, why speak of it now? Why speak of it at all? Then the lad has a matter of letting his thoughts be known, that I fear I could never equal. If there's anything on earth that would make my tongue bold in persuading Mabel, I do think it's yourself. And yet in our late conversations Jasper has outdone me, even on this point, in a way to make me ashamed of myself. He has told me how simple you were, and how true-hearted, and kind-hearted, and how you look down upon vanities, for though you might be the wife of more than one officer, as he thinks, that you cling to feeling, and would rather be true to yourself in nature than a colonel's lady. He fairly made my blood warm, he did, when he spoke of your having beauty without seeming ever to have looked upon it, and the manner in which you moved about like a young fawn, so natural and graceful like, without knowing it, and the truth and justice of your ideas, and the warmth and generosity of your heart, Jasper, interrupted Mabel, giving way to feelings that had gathered an ungovernable force by being so long pent, and falling into the young man's willing arms, weeping like a child, and almost as helpless. Jasper! Jasper! Why have you kept this from me? The answer of Odus was not very intelligible, nor was the murmured dialogue that followed remarkable for coherency, but the language of affection is easily understood. The hour that succeeded passed like a very few minutes of ordinary life, so far as a computation of time was concerned, and when Mabel recollected herself and bethought her of the existence of others, her uncle was pacing the cutter's deck in great impatience, and wondering why Jasper should be losing so much of a favourable wind. Her first thought was of him, who was so likely to feel the recent betrayal of her real emotions. Oh, Jasper! She exclaimed, like one suddenly self-convicted. The Pathfinder! Odus fairly trembled, not with unmanly apprehension, but with the painful conviction of the pang he had given his friend, and he looked in all directions in the expectation of seeing his person. But Pathfinder had withdrawn, with a tact and a delicacy that might have done credit to the sensibility and breeding of a courteur. For several minutes the two lovers sat, silently waiting his return, uncertain what propriety required of them under circumstances so marked and so peculiar. At length they beheld their friend advancing slowly towards them, with a thoughtful and even pensive air. I now understand what you meant, Jasper, by speaking without a tongue, and hearing without an ear. He said, when close enough to the tree to be heard. Yes, I understand it now. I do. And a very pleasant sort of discourse it is, when one can hold it with Mabel Dunham. Ha! It's me. I told the sergeant I wasn't fit for her, that I was too old, too ignorant, and too wild-like. But he would have it otherwise. Jasper and Mabel sat, resembling Milton's picture of our first parents, when the consciousness of sin first laid its lead and weight on their souls. Neither spoke, neither even moved, though both at that moment fancied they could part with their newfound happiness in order to restore their friend to his peace of mind. Jasper was pale as death, but in Mabel, maiden modesty had caused the blood to mantle on her cheeks, until their bloom was heightened to a richness that was scarcely equaled in her hours of light-hearted buoyancy and joy. As the feeling which, in her sex, always accompanies the security of love returned, through its softness and tenderness over her countenance, she was singularly beautiful. Pathfinder gazed at her with an intentness he did not endeavor to conceal, and then he fairly laughed in his own way, and with a sort of wild exultation, as men that are untutored or want to express their delight. This momentary indulgence, however, was expiated by the pang which followed the sudden consciousness that this glorious young creature was lost to him forever. It required a full minute for this simple-minded being to recover from the shock of this conviction, and then he recovered his dignity of manner, speaking with gravity, almost with solemnity. "'I have always known, Mabel Dunham, that men have their gifts,' said he. "'But I had forgotten that it did not belong to mine, to please the young, the beautiful, and learn it. I hope the mistake has been no very heavy sin, and if it was, I have been heavily punished for it, I have. Nay, Mabel, I know what you'd say, but it's unnecessary. I feel it all, and that is as good as if I heard it all. I've had a bitter hour, Mabel. I've had a very bitter hour, lad.' "'Hour!' echoed Mabel, as the other first used the word, the tell-tale blood which had begun to add towards her heart, rushing again too mulchlessly to her very temples. Really not an hour, Pathfinder!' "'Hour!' exclaimed Jasper at the same instant. "'No! No, my worthy friend. It is not ten minutes since you left us.' "'Well, it may be so. Though to me it has seemed to be a day. I begin to think, however, that the happy count time by minutes, and the miserable count it by months. But we will talk no more of this. It is all over now. Many words about it will make you no happier, while they will only tell me what I've lost, and quite likely how much I deserve to lose her. No! No, Mabel. It is useless to interrupt me. I admit it all, and you are gain-saying it, though it be so well-met, cannot change my mind. "'Well, Jasper? She is yours. And though it's hard to think it, I do believe you'll make her happier than I could. For your gifts are better suited to do so. Though I would have strived hard to do as much, if I knew myself, I would. I ought to have known better than to believe the sergeant, and ought to have put faith in what Mabel told me at the head of the lake, for reason and judgment might have shown me its truth. But it is so pleasant to think what we wish, and mankind so easily over-persuade us when we over-persuade ourselves. But what's the use of talking about it as a set of four? It's true. Mabel seemed to be consenting, though it all came from a wish to please her father, and from being scary about the savages, the pathfinder. I understand you, Mabel, and have no hard feelings. I haven't. I sometimes think I should like to live in your neighborhood, that I might look at your happiness. But on the whole it's better I should quit the Fifty-Fifth all together and go back to the Sixtieth, which is my native regiment as it might be. It would have been better, perhaps, had I never left it, though my services were much wanted in this quarter, and I've been with some of the Fifty-Fifth years of gone. Sergeant Dunham, for instance, when he was in another corps. Still, Jasper, I do not regret that I've known you. And me, Pathfinder, impetuously interrupted Mabel, do you regret having known me? Could I think so? I should never be at peace with myself. You, Mabel, returned the guy, taking the hand of our heroine, and looking up into her countenance with guileless simplicity, but earnest affection. How could I be sorry that a ray of the sun came across the gloom of a cheerless day, that light has broken in upon darkness, though it remains so short a time? I do not flatter myself with being able to march quite so light-hearted as I once used to could, or to sleep a sound for some time to come, but I shall always remember how near I was to being undeservedly happy I shall. So far from blaming you, Mabel, I only blame myself for being so vain as to think it possible I could please such a creature, for certainly you told me how it was when we talked it over on the mountain, and I ought to have believed you then, for I do suppose it's natural that young women should know their own minds better than their fathers. Ah, as me! It's settled now, and nothing remains but for me to take leave of you, that you may depart. I feel that Master Cap must be impatient, and there is danger of his coming on shore to look for us all. To take leave, exclaimed Mabel. Leave, echo Jasper, you do not mean to quit us, my friend? To his best, Mabel, it is altogether best, O deuce, and it's wisest. I could live and die in your company if I only followed feeling, but if I follow reason I shall quit you here. You will go back to Oswego and become man and wife as soon as you arrive. For all that is determined with Master Cap, who hankers after the sea again, and he knows what is to happen, while I shall return to the wilderness in my maker. Come, Mabel, continue, Pathfinder, rising and drawing nearer to our heroine with grave decorum. Kiss me! Jasper will not grudge me one kiss, then we'll part. Oh, Pathfinder! exclaimed Mabel, falling into the arms of the guide, and kissing his cheeks again and again, with the freedom and warmth she had been far from manifesting, while held to the bosom of Jasper. God bless you, dearest Pathfinder. You'll come to us hereafter. We shall see you again. When old you will come to our dwelling, and let me be a daughter to you. Yes, that's it. Returned the guide, almost gasping for breath. I'll try to think of it that way. You're more befitting to be my daughter than to be my wife. You are. Farewell, Jasper. Now we'll go to the canoe its time you were on board. The manner in which Pathfinder led the way to the shore was solemn and calm. As soon as he reached the canoe, he again took Mabel by the hands, held her at the length of his own arms, and gazed wistfully into her face, until the unbidden tears rolled out of the fountains of the feeling and trickled down his rugged cheeks and streams. Bless me, Pathfinder, said Mabel, kneeling reverently at his feet. Oh, at least bless me before we part. That untutored but noble-minded being did as she desired, and aiding her to enter the canoe seemed to tear himself away as one snaps a strong and obstinate cord. Before he retired, however, he took Jasper by the arm and let him a little aside when he spoke as follows. You're kind of hard and gentle by nature, Jasper, but we are both rough and wild in comparison with that dear creature. Be careful of her, and never show the roughness of man's nature to her soft disposition. You'll get to understand her in time, and the Lord, who governs the lake and the forest alike, who looks upon virtue with a smile and upon vice with a frown, keep you happy and worthy to be so. Pathfinder made a sign for his friend to depart, and he stood leaning on his rifle until the canoe had reached the side of the scud. Mabel wept as if her heart would break, nor did her eyes once turn from the open spot in the glade where the form of the Pathfinder was to be seen, until the cutter had passed a point that completely shut out the island. When last in view the sinewy frame of this extraordinary man was as motionless as if it were a statue set up in that solitary place to commemorate the scenes of which it had so lately been the witness. End of chapter. Chapter 30 The Final Chapter of the Pathfinder This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. The Pathfinder by James Fenimore Cooper. Chapter 30 Oh, let me only breathe the air, the blessed air that's breathed by thee, and whether on its wings it bear healing or death, to his sweet to me. Pathfinder was accustomed to solitude, but when the scud had actually disappeared he was almost overcome with a sense of his loneliness. Never before had he been conscious of his isolated condition in the world, for his feelings had gradually been a-customing themselves to the blandishments and wants of social life, particularly as the last were connected with the domestic affections. Now all had vanished as it might be in one moment, and he was left equally without companions and without hope. Even Chingachuk had left him, although it was but temporarily. Still his presence was missed at the precise instant which might be termed the most critical in our hero's life. Pathfinder stood leaning on his rifle in the attitude described in the last chapter, a long time after the scud had disappeared. The rigidity of his limbs seemed permanent, and none but a man accustomed to put his muscles to the severest proof could have maintained that posture with its marble-like inflexibility for so great a length of time. At length he moved away from the spot, the motion of the body being preceded by a sigh that seemed to heave up from the very depths of his bosom. It was a peculiarity of this extraordinary being that his senses and his limbs, for all practical purposes, were never at fault. Let the mind be preoccupied with other interests as much as it might. On the present occasion neither of these great auxiliaries failed him. But, though his thoughts were exclusively occupied with Mabel, her beauty, her preference of Jasper, her tears and her departure, he moved in a direct line to the spot where June still remained, which was the grave of her husband. The conversation that followed passed in the language of the Tuscaroras, which Pathfinder spoke fluently, but as that tongue is understood only by the extremely learned, we shall translate it freely into the English, preserving, as far as possible, the tone of thought of each interlocutor, as well as the peculiarities of manner. June had suffered her hair to fall about her face, had taken a seat on a stone which had been dug from the excavation made by the grave, and was hanging over the spot which contained the body of arrowhead, unconscious of the presence of any other. She believed, indeed, that all had left the island but herself, and the tread of the guide's moccasin foot was too noiseless, rudely, to un-deceive her. Pathfinder stood gazing at the woman for several minutes in mute attention, the contemplation of her grief, the recollection of her irreparable loss, and the view of her desolation produced a healthful influence on his own feelings, his reason telling him how much deeper lay the sources of grief on a young wife, who was suddenly and violently deprived of her husband, than in himself. "'Do of June?' he said solemnly, but with an earnestness which denoted the strength of his sympathy. You are not alone in your sorrow. Turn and let your eyes look upon a friend.' "'June has no longer any friend,' the woman answered. Arrowhead has gone to the happy hunting grounds, and there is no one left to care for June. The dusk aroras would chase her from their wigwams. The Iroquois are hateful in her eyes, and she could not look at them. No, leave June to starve over the grave of her husband. This will never do. This will never do. It is again reason and right. You believe in the manatee, June? He has hid his face from June because he is angry. He has left her alone to die. Listen to one who has had a long acquaintance with red nature, though he has a white berth and white gifts. When the manatee of a pale-face wishes to produce good in a pale-face heart, he strikes it with grief, for it is in our sorrows, June, that we look with the truest eyes into ourselves, and with the farthest-sided eyes, too, as respects right. The great spirit wishes you well, and he has taken away the chief, lest you should be led astray by his wily tongue, and get to be a mingo in your disposition, as you are already in your company. Arrowhead was a great chief, returned the woman proudly. He had his merits, he had, and he had his demerits, too. But June, you are not deserted, nor will you be soon. Let your grief out. Let it out according to nature, and when the proper time comes I shall have more to say to you. Deathfinder now went to his own canoe, and he left the island. In the course of the day June heard the crack of his rifle once or twice, and as the sun was setting he reappeared, bringing her birds already cooked, and of a delicacy and flavor that might have tempted the appetite of an epicure. This species of intercourse lasted a month, June obstinately refusing to abandon the grave of her husband all that time, though she still accepted the friendly offerings of her protector. Occasionally they met and conversed, Pathfinder sounding the state of the woman's feelings, but the interviews were short and far from frequent. June slept in one of the huts, and she laid down her head in security, for she was conscious of the protection of a friend, though Pathfinder invariably retired at night to an adjacent island where he had built himself a hut. At the end of the month, however, the season was getting to be too far advanced to render her situation pleasant to June. The trees had lost their leaves, and the nights were becoming cold and wintry. It was time to depart. At this moment Chingachuk reappeared. He had a long and confidential interview on the island with his friend. June witnessed their movements, and she saw that her guardian was distressed. Stealing to his side she endeavored to soothe his sorrow with the woman's gentleness and with the woman's instinct. Thank you, June, thank you, he said. Till's well meant, though it's useless. But it is time to quit this place. Tomorrow we shall depart. You will go with us, for now you've got to feel reason. June assented in the meek manner of an Indian woman, and she withdrew to pass the remainder of her time near the grave of Arrowhead. Notice of the hour and the season, the young widow did not pillow her head during the whole of that entomnal night. She sat near the spot that held the remains of her husband, and prayed, in the manner of her people, for his success on the endless path on which she had so lately gone, and for their reunion in the land of the just. Humble and degraded as she would have seemed in the eyes of the sophisticated and unreflecting, the image of God was on her soul, and it vindicated its divine origin by aspirations and feelings that would have surprised those who, feigning more, feel less. In the morning the three departed, Pathfinder earnest and intelligent in all he did, the great serpent silent and imitative, and June meek resigned but sorrowful. They went in two canoes, that of the woman being abandoned. Chingachuk led the way, and Pathfinder followed, the course being upstream. Two days they paddled westward, and as many nights they encamped on islands. Fortunately the weather became mild, and when they reached the lake it was found smooth and glassy as a pond. It was the Indian summer, and the calms, and almost the blandness of June slept in the hazy atmosphere. On the morning of the third day they passed the mouth of the Oswego, where the fort and the sleeping ensign invited them in vain to enter. Without casting a look aside, Chingachuk paddled past the dark waters of the river, and Pathfinder still followed in silent industry. The ramparts were crowded with spectators, but Lundy, who knew the persons of his old friends, refused to allow them to be even hailed. It was noon when Chingachuk entered a little bay where the scud lay at anchor, in a sort of roadstead. A small ancient clearing was on the shore, and near the margin of the lake was a log dwelling, recently and completely though rudely fitted up. There was an air of frontier comfort and of frontier abundance around the place, though it was necessarily wild and solitary. Jasper stood on the shore, and when Pathfinder landed he was the first to take him by the hand. The meeting was simple but very cordial. No questions were asked, if being apparent that Chingachuk had made the necessary explanations. Pathfinder never squeezed his friend's hand more cordially than in this interview, and he even laughed cordially in his face as he told him how happy and well he appeared. Where is she, Jasper? Where is she? The guide at length whispered, for at first he had seemed to be afraid to trust himself with the question. She is waiting for us in the house, my dear friend. Before you see that June is already hastened before us. June may use a lighter step to meet Mabel, but she cannot carry a lighter heart. And so, lad, you found the chaplain at the garrison, and all was soon settled? We were married within a week after we left you, and Master Captain parted next day. You are forgotten to inquire about your friend's salt water. No. Not I. Not I. Sarbaness told me all that, and then I loved to hear so much of Mabel and her happiness I do. Did the child smile, or did she weep when the ceremony was over? She did both, my friend, but yes, that's their nature, tearful and cheerful. As me. They are very pleasant to us of the woods, and I do believe I should think, all right, whatever Mabel might do. And do you think, Jasper, that she thought of me at all on that joyful occasion? I know she did, Pathfinder, and she thinks of you and talks of you daily, almost hourly. None love you as we do. I know if you love me better than yourself, Jasper. Chingachkoek is, perhaps now, the only creature of whom I can say that. Well, there's no use in putting it off any longer. It must be done, and it may as well be done at once. So, Jasper, lead the way, and I'll endeavor to look upon her sweet countenance once more. Jasper did lead the way, and they were soon in the presence of Mabel. The latter met her late suitor with a bright blush, and her limbs trembled so she could hardly stand. Still her manner was affectionate and frank. During the hour of Pathfinder's visit, Fort lasted no longer, though he ate in the dwelling of his friends. One who was expert in tracing the working of the human mind might have seen a faithful index to the feelings of Mabel in her manner to Pathfinder and her husband. With the latter she still had a little of the reserve that usually accompanies young wedlock, but the tones of her voice were kinder even than common. The glance of her eye was tender, and she seldom looked at him without the glow that tinged her cheeks, betraying the existence of feelings that habit and time had not yet soothed into absolute tranquility. With Pathfinder all was earnest, sincere, even anxious, but the tones never trembled, the eyes never fell, and if the cheek flushed it was with the emotions that are connected with concern. At length the moment came when Pathfinder must go his way. Cengachgook had already abandoned the canoes and was posted on the margin of the woods where a path led into the forest. Here he calmly waited to be joined by his friend. As soon as the latter was aware of this fact he rose in a solemn manner and took his leave. "'I've sometimes thought that my own fate has been a little hard,' he said. But that of this woman, Mabel, has shamed me into reason. June remains, and lives with me,' eagerly interrupted our heroine. "'So I comprehend it. If anybody can bring her back from her grief and make her wish to live, you can do it, Mabel, though I've misgivings about even your success. The poor creature is without a tribe, as well as without a husband, and it's not easy to reconcile the feelings to both losses. Ah, as me! What have I to do with other people's miseries and marriages, as if I hadn't defliction enough of my own? Don't speak to me, Mabel. Don't speak to me, Jasper. Let me go my way in peace, and like a man. I've seen your happiness, and that is a great deal, and I shall be able to bear my own sorrow all the better for it. No. I'll never kiss you again, Mabel. I'll never kiss you again. Here's my hand, Jasper. Squeeze it, boy. Squeeze it. No fear of its given way, for it's the hand of a man. And now, Mabel, do you take it? Nay, you must not do this, preventing Mabel from kissing it and bathing it in her tears. You must not do this. Pathfinder, asked Mabel, when shall we see you again? I've thought of that, too. Yes, I've thought of that. I have. If the time should ever come when I could look upon you all together as a sister, Mabel, or a child, it might be better to say a child, since you're young enough to be my daughter. Depend on it. I'll come back, for it would lighten my very heart to witness your gladness. But if I cannot, fair well, fair well. The sergeant was wrong, yes, the sergeant was wrong. This was the last the Pathfinder ever uttered to the ears of Jasper Western and Mabel Dunham. He turned away as if the words choked him and was quickly at the side of his friend. As soon as the latter saw him approach, he shouldered his own burden and glided in among the trees, without waiting to be spoken to. Mabel, her husband, and June all watched the form of the Pathfinder in the hope of receiving a parting glance, or a stolen glance of the eye, but he did not look back. Once or twice they thought they saw his head shake as one trembles in bitterness of spirit, and a toss of the hand was given, as if he knew that he was watched, but a tread whose vigor no sorrow could enfeeble soon bore him out of view and was lost in the depths of the forest. Neither Jasper nor his wife ever beheld the Pathfinder again. They remained for another year on the banks of Ontario, and then the pressing solicitations of CAP induced them to join him in New York, where Jasper eventually became a successful and respected merchant. Thrice Mabel received valuable presence of furs at intervals of years, and her feelings told her whence they came, though no name accompanied the gift. Later in life still, when the mother of several youths, she had occasioned to visit the interior and found herself on the banks of the Mohawk, accompanied by her sons, the eldest of whom was capable of being her protector. On that occasion she observed a man in a singular guise, watching her in the distance, with an intentness that induced her to inquire into his pursuits and character. She was told he was the most renowned hunter of that portion of the state. It was after the Revolution, a being of great purity of character and of his marked peculiarities, and that he was known in that region of country by the name of the Leather Stocking. Further than this Mrs. Westring could not ascertain, though the distant glimpse and singular deportment of this unknown hunter gave her a sleepless night, and cast a shade of melancholy over her still lovely face that lasted many a day. As for June, the double loss of husband and tribe produced the effect that Pathfinder had foreseen. She died in the Cottage of Mabel, on the shores of the lake, and Jasper conveyed her body to the island, where he interred it by the side of that of Arrowhead. Lundy lived to marry his ancient love, and retired a war-worn and battered veteran, but his name has been rendered illustrious in his own time by the deeds of a younger brother, who succeeded to his territorial title, which, however, was shortly after, merged in one earned by his val-