Mabel obeyed, bounding down the hill with the elastic step of youth and health.  But, notwithstanding the lightness of her steps, the heart of the girl was heavy, and no sooner was she hid from observation by the thicket, than she threw herself on the root of a tree and wept as if her heart would break.  The Sergeant watched her until she disappeared, with a father’s pride, and then turned to his companion with a smile as kind and as familiar as his habits would allow him to use towards any.

“She has her mother’s lightness and activity, my friend, with somewhat of her father’s force,” said he.  “Her mother was not quite so handsome, I think myself; but the Dunhams were always thought comely, whether men or women.  Well, Pathfinder, I take it for granted you’ve not overlooked the opportunity, but have spoken plainly to the girl? women like frankness in matters of this sort.”

“I believe Mabel and I understand each other at last, Sergeant,” returned the other, looking another way to avoid the soldier’s face.

“So much the better.  Some people fancy that a little doubt and uncertainty makes love all the livelier; but I am one of those who think the plainer the tongue speaks the easier the mind will comprehend.  Was Mabel surprised?”

“I fear she was, Sergeant; I fear she was taken quite by surprise —­ yes, I do.”

“Well, well, surprises in love are like an ambush in war, and quite as lawful; though it is not so easy to tell when a woman is surprised, as to tell when it happens to an enemy.  Mabel did not run away, my worthy friend, did she?”

“No, Sergeant, Mabel did not try to escape; that I can say with a clear conscience.”

“I hope the girl was too willing, neither!  Her mother was shy and coy for a month, at least; but frankness, after all, is a recommendation in a man or woman.”

“That it is, that it is; and judgment, too.”

“You are not to look for too much judgment in a young creature of twenty, Pathfinder, but it will come with experience.  A mistake in you or me, for instance, might not be so easily overlooked; but in a girl of Mabel’s years, one is not to strain at a gnat lest they swallow a camel.”

The reader will remember that Sergeant Dunham was not a Hebrew scholar.

The muscles of the listener’s face twitched as the Sergeant was thus delivering his sentiments, though the former had now recovered a portion of that stoicism which formed so large a part of his character, and which he had probably imbibed from long association with the Indians.  His eyes rose and fell, and once a gleam shot athwart his hard features as if he were about to indulge in his peculiar laugh; but the joyous feeling, if it really existed, was as quickly lost in a look allied to anguish.  It was this unusual mixture of wild and keen mental agony with native, simple joyousness, which had most struck Mabel, who, in the interview just related, had a dozen times been on the point of believing that her suitor’s heart was only lightly touched, as images of happiness and humor gleamed over a mind that was almost infantile in its simplicity and nature; an impression, however, which was soon driven away by the discovery of emotions so painful and so deep, that they seemed to harrow the very soul.