us nothing to regret.  My only relative on earth, saving yourself, Roland,—­saving yourself, my cousin, my brother,”—­her lip quivered, and, for a moment her eyes were filled with tears,—­“my only other living relation resides in this wilderness-land; and she, tenderly nurtured as myself, finds in it enough to engage her thoughts and secure her happiness.  Why, then, should not I?  Why should not you?  Trust me, dear Roland, I should myself be as happy as the day is long, could I only know that you did not grieve for me.”

“I cannot but choose it,” said Roland.  “It is to me you owe the loss of fortune and your present banishment from the world.”

“Say not so, Roland, for it is not true; no!  I never can believe that our poor uncle would have carried his resentment, for such a cause, so far.  But supposing that he could, and granting that all were as you say, I am prouder to be the poor cousin of Roland Forrester, who has bled in the battles of his country, than if I were the rich and courted kinswoman of one who had betrayed the memory of his father.”

“You are, at least, an angel,” said the youth; “and I am but a villain to say or do anything to give you pain.  Farewell then to Fell-hallow, to old James River, and all!  If you can forget these things, Edith, so will I; at all events, I will try.”

“Now,” said Edith, “you talk like my true cousin.”

“Well, Edith, the world is before us; and shame be upon me, if I, who have health, strength, and youth to back my ambition, cannot provide you a refuge and a home.  I will leave you for a while in the hands of this good aunt at the Falls; and then, with old Emperor there for my adjutant, and Sam for my rank and file, I will plunge into the forest, and scatter it as I have seen a band of tories scattered by my old major (who, by the bye, is only three years older than myself), Henry Lee, not many years back.  Then, when I have built me a house, furrowed my acres with my martial plough-share (for to that, it appears, my sword must come), and reaped my harvest with my own hands (it will be hard work to beat my horse-pistols into a sickle), then, Edith—­”

“Then, Roland,” said the maiden, with a smile and a tear, “if you should still remember your poor cousin, it will not be hard to persuade her to follow you to your retreat, to share your fortunes of good and of evil, and to love you better in your adversity than she ever expected to love you in your prosperity.”

“Spoken like my true Edith!” said the young officer, whose melancholy fled before her soft accents, as the evil spirit of Saul before the tinklings of the Jewish harp,—­“spoken like my true Edith; for whom I promise, if fate smile upon my exertions, to rear a new Fell-hallow on the banks of the Ohio, in which I will be, myself, the first to forget that on James River.  And now, Edith, let us ride forward and meet yon gay looking giant, whom, from his bustling demeanour, and fresh jerkin, I judge to be the commander of the Station, the redoubtable Colonel Bruce himself.”