der the rock, and when you promised me,
John, that you would be careful and keep yourself from danger, if it was
only to please me. We were doing our best for you then, Major
Butler--and here is what it has come to. No longer than last night he
made me the promise. Oh me, oh me! how wretched--how miserable I am!"

"Daughter, dear," said Allen Musgrove, "rise up and behave like a brave
girl as, you know, I have often told you you were. We are born to
afflictions, and young as you are, you cannot hope to be free from the
common lot. You do yourself harm by this ungoverned grief. There's a
good and a kind girl--sit yourself down and calm your feelings."

Musgrove took his daughter by the hand, and gently conducted her to a
seat, where he continued to address her in soothing language, secretly
afraid that the agony of her feelings might work some serious misfortune
upon her senses.

"You are not angry with me, father, for following you to-night?" said
Mary, for a moment moderating the wildness of her sorrow.

"No, child, no. I cannot be angry with you; but I fear this long
night-ride may do you harm."

"I can but die, father; and I would not step aside from that."

"Recollect yourself, Mary; your Bible does not teach you to wish for
death. It is sinful to rebel under the chastisements of God. Daughter, I
have taught you in your day of prosperity, the lessons that were to be
practised in your time of suffering and trial. Do not now turn me and my
precepts to shame."

"Oh, father, forgive me. It is so hard to lose the best, the dearest!"
Here Mary again gave way to emotions which could only relieve themselves
in profuse tears.

In the meantime the body was removed to the outside of the cabin, and
the coffin was speedily shut up and deposited upon a light wagon-frame,
to which two lean horses were already harnessed, and which waited to
convey its burden to the grave-yard.

"All is ready," said Winter, stepping quietly into the house, and
speaking in a low tone to Musgrove. "We are waiting only for you."

"Father," said Mary, who, on hearing this communication, had sprung to
her feet, "I must go with you."

"My child!"

"I came all this way through the dark woods on purpose, father--and it
is my right to go with him to his grave. Pray, dear father, do not
forbid me. We belonged to each other, and he would be glad to think I
was the last that left him--the very last."

"The poor child takes on so," said the wife