words
bring rain to her eyes, and make her heart heavy? But he is her child
still, and all the world is nothing to him."

Verty rose, and taking the old, withered hand, placed it respectfully
on his breast.

"Never again, _ma mere_" he said, "will the wind talk to me, or the
birds whisper. I will not listen. Have I made your eyes dark? Let it
pass away--I am your son--I love you--more than all the whole wide
world."

And Verty sat down, and gazed tenderly at the old woman, whose face
had assumed an expression of extraordinary delight.

"Listen," said Verty, taking down his old violin, with a smile,
"I will play one of the old tunes, which blow like a wind from my
childhood--happy childhood."

And the young man gazed for a moment, silent and motionless, into the
fire. Then he raised his old, battered instrument, and began to play
one of the wild madrigals of the border.

The music aroused Longears, who sat up, so to speak, upon his
forepaws, and with his head bent upon one side, gazed with dignified
and solemn interest at his master.

The young man smiled, and continued playing; and as the rude border
music floated from the instrument, the Verty of old days came back,
and he was once again the forest hunter.

The old woman gazed at him with thoughtful affection, and returned his
smile. He went on playing, and the long hours of the autumn night went
by like birds into the cloudland of the past.

When the forest boy ceased playing, it was nearly midnight, and the
brands were flickering and dying.

Waked by the silence, Longears, who had gone to sleep again, rose up,
and came and licked his master's hand, and whined. Verty caressed his
head, and laying down his violin, looked at the old Indian woman with
affectionate smiles, and murmured:

"We are happy still, _ma mere_!"

CHAPTER LXI.

MISTRESS O'CALLIGAN'S WOOERS.

It will be remembered that Mr. Jinks had summed up the probable
results of his deep laid schemes that morning when he returned from
Mistress O'Calligan's, in the strong and emphatic word-picture, "there
will be gory blood, sir!"

Now, while these words, strictly construed, are, perhaps, ambiguous,
from a certain redundancy in the arrangement, still, there is little
difficulty in determining what Mr. Jinks meant. Death and destruction
dwelt in his imagination, and held there a riotous carnival; and to
such a pitch of delight was our friend elevated by the triumphant
anticipation of