xpedition. But
Mabel never left her father's side for an instant; and when, by his
breathing, she fancied he slept, she bent her knees and prayed.

The half-hour that succeeded was awfully solemn and still. The moccasin
of Pathfinder was barely heard overhead, and occasionally the sound
of the breech of a rifle fell upon the floor, for he was busied in
examining the pieces, with a view to ascertain the state of their
charges and their primings. Beyond this, nothing was so loud as
the breathing of the wounded man. Mabel's heart yearned to be in
communication with the father she was so soon to lose, and yet she would
not disturb his apparent repose. But Dunham slept not; he was in that
state when the world suddenly loses its attractions, its illusions, and
its power; and the unknown future fills the mind with its conjectures,
its revelations, and its immensity. He had been a moral man for one
of his mode of life, but he had thought little of this all-important
moment. Had the din of battle been ringing in his ears, his martial
ardor might have endured to the end; but there, in the silence of that
nearly untenanted blockhouse, with no sound to enliven him, no appeal
to keep alive factitious sentiment, no hope of victory to impel, things
began to appear in their true colors, and this state of being to be
estimated at its just value. He would have given treasures for religious
consolation, and yet he knew not where to turn to seek it. He thought
of Pathfinder, but he distrusted his knowledge. He thought of Mabel,
but for the parent to appeal to the child for such succor appeared
like reversing the order of nature. Then it was that he felt the full
responsibility of the parental character, and had some clear glimpse
of the manner in which he himself had discharged the trust towards an
orphan child. While thoughts like these were rising in his mind, Mabel,
who watched the slightest change in his breathing, heard a guarded knock
at the door. Supposing it might be Chingachgook, she rose, undid two of
the bars, and held the third in her hand, as she asked who was there.
The answer was in her uncle's voice, and he implored her to give him
instant admission. Without an instant of hesitation, she turned the bar,
and Cap entered. He had barely passed the opening, when Mabel closed
the door again, and secured it as before, for practice had rendered her
expert in this portion of her duties.

The sturdy seaman, when he had made sure of