illuminated the rude apartment, with Mabel and her desolation.  Our heroine now naturally enough supposed that her hour was come; for the door, the only means of retreat, had been blocked up by the brush and fire, with hellish ingenuity, and she addressed herself, as she believed, for the last time to her Maker in prayer.  Her eyes were closed, and for more than a minute her spirit was abstracted; but the interests of the world too strongly divided her feelings to be altogether suppressed; and when they involuntarily opened again, she perceived that the streak of flame was no longer flaring in the room, though the wood around the little aperture had kindled, and the blaze was slowly mounting under the impulsion of a current of air that sucked inward.  A barrel of water stood in a corner; and Mabel, acting more by instinct than by reason, caught up a vessel, filled it, and, pouring it on the wood with a trembling hand, succeeded in extinguishing the fire at that particular spot.  The smoke prevented her from looking down again for a couple of minutes; but when she did her heart beat high with delight and hope at finding that the pile of blazing brush had been overturned and scattered, and that water had been thrown on the logs of the door, which were still smoking though no longer burning.

“Who is there?” said Mabel, with her mouth at the loop.  “What friendly hand has a merciful Providence sent to my succor?”

A light footstep was audible below, and one of those gentle pushes at the door was heard, which just moved the massive beams on the hinges.

“Who wishes to enter?  Is it you, dear, dear uncle?”

“Saltwater no here.  St. Lawrence sweet water,” was the answer.  “Open quick; want to come in.”

The step of Mabel was never lighter, or her movements more quick and natural, than while she was descending the ladder and turning the bars, for all her motions were earnest and active.  This time she thought only of her escape, and she opened the door with a rapidity which did not admit of caution.  Her first impulse was to rush into the open air, in the blind hope of quitting the blockhouse; but June repulsed the attempt, and entering, she coolly barred the door again before she would notice Mabel’s eager efforts to embrace her.

“Bless you! bless you, June!” cried our heroine most fervently; “you are sent by Providence to be my guardian angel!”

“No hug so tight,” answered the Tuscarora woman.  “Pale-face woman all cry, or all laugh.  Let June fasten door.”

Mabel became more rational, and in a few minutes the two were again in the upper room, seated as before, hand in hand, all feeling of distrust between them being banished.

“Now tell me, June,” Mabel commenced as soon as she had given and received one warm embrace, “have you seen or heard aught of my poor uncle?”

“Don’t know.  No one see him; no one hear him; no one know anyt’ing.  Saltwater run into river, I t’ink, for I no find him.  Quartermaster gone too.  I look, and look, and look; but no see’ em, one, t’other, nowhere.”