hile the other was alluded to as Mr., which
was equivalent to Ensign Thornton. The former it will at once be seen
was the officer who had been named with so much feeling in the parting
dialogue between Judith and Hurry. He was, in truth, the very individual
with whom the scandal of the garrisons had most freely connected the
name of this beautiful but indiscreet girl. He was a hard featured, red
faced man of about five and thirty; but of a military carriage, and with
an air of fashion that might easily impose on the imagination of one as
ignorant of the world as Judith.

"Craig is covering us with benedictions," observed this person to his
young ensign, with an air of indifference, as he shut the glass and
handed it to his servant; "to say the truth, not without reason; it is
certainly more agreeable to be here in attendance on Miss Judith Hutter,
than to be burying Indians on a point of the lake, however romantic the
position, or brilliant the victory. By the way, Wright--is Davis still
living?"

"He died about ten minutes since, your honor," returned the sergeant to
whom this question was addressed. "I knew how it would be, as soon as I
found the bullet had touched the stomach. I never knew a man who could
hold out long, if he had a hole in his stomach."

"No; it is rather inconvenient for carrying away any thing very
nourishing," observed Warley, gaping. "This being up two nights de
suite, Arthur, plays the devil with a man's faculties! I'm as stupid
as one of those Dutch parsons on the Mohawk--I hope your arm is not
painful, my dear boy?"

"It draws a few grimaces from me, sir, as I suppose you see," answered
the youth, laughing at the very moment his countenance was a little
awry with pain. "But it may be borne. I suppose Graham can spare a few
minutes, soon, to look at my hurt."

"She is a lovely creature, this Judith Hutter, after all, Thornton; and
it shall not be my fault if she is not seen and admired in the Parks!"
resumed Warley, who thought little of his companion's wound--"your arm,
eh! Quite True--Go into the ark, sergeant, and tell Dr. Graham I desire
he would look at Mr. Thornton's injury, as soon as he has done with the
poor fellow with the broken leg. A lovely creature! and she looked like
a queen in that brocade dress in which we met her. I find all changed
here; father and mother both gone, the sister dying, if not dead,
and none of the family left, but the beauty! This has been a lucky
expedi