of Drummond, now for the
first time interposing in the scene; "and it seems natural, Mr.
Musgrove, that you shouldn't hinder her. I will go along, and maybe it
will be a comfort to her, to have some woman-kind beside her. I will
take her hand."

"You shall go, Mary," said her father; "but on the condition that you
govern your feelings, and behave with the moderation of a Christian
woman. Take courage, my child, and show your nurture."

"I will, father--I will; the worst is past, and I can walk quietly to
John's grave," replied Mary, as the tears again flowed fast, and her
voice was stifled with her sobs.

"It is a heavy trouble for such a young creature to bear," said Mistress
Drummond, as she stood beside the maiden, waiting for this burst of
grief to subside; "but this world is full of such sorrows."

Musgrove now quitted the apartment. He was followed by his daughter and
the rest of the inmates, all of whom repaired to the front of the cabin,
where they awaited the removal of the body.

A bundle of pine faggots had been provided, and each one of the party
was supplied from them with a lighted torch. Some little delay occurred
whilst Harry Winter was concluding his arrangements for the funeral.

"Take your weapons along, boys," said the trooper to his comrades, in a
whisper. "John Ramsay shall have the honors of war--and mark, you are to
bring up the rear--let the women walk next the wagon. Gabriel Drummond,
bring your rifle along--we shall give a volley over the grave."

The woodman stepped into the cabin and returned with his fire lock. All
things being ready, the wagon, under the guidance of a negro who walked
at the horses' heads, now moved forward. The whole party formed a
procession in couples--the woodman's wife and Mary being first in the
train, the children succeeding them, and the rest following in regular
order.

It was an hour after midnight. The road, scarcely discernible, wound
through a thick forest, and the procession moved with a slow and heavy
step towards its destination. The torches lit up the darkness of the
wood with a strong flame, that penetrated the mass of sombre foliage to
the extent of some fifty paces around, and glared with a wild and
romantic effect upon the rude coffin, the homely vehicle on which it was
borne, and upon the sorrowing faces of the train that followed it. The
seclusion of the region, the unwonted hour, and the strange mixture of
domestic and military mourning, ha