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, and 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, Eau-douce," 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've 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 seeming equally improbable to each.

"Mabel," our hero at length resumed, "we must talk plainly to each other
afore we join your uncle in the cutter, where the Saltwater 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. Ah's
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 up stream. Mabel, you know that the Sergeant, afore he left
us, had settled it 'atween us two 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 'arth; 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 pal