not suspected this before. The thousand
and one acts, and little, airy nothings, had given her a suspicion of
the truth long since, but she had never felt certain of it.

This knowledge, which must ever be pleasant and flattering to the
maiden, caused no unpleasant feelings on her part. If she did not love
him, she certainly respected and admired his noble qualities, and the
difference between the emotions named and love itself is certainly too
faint for recognition. Under almost any circumstances they will grow
into the passion, and all be lost in blending. Respect is the scout and
guide that leads love to the soul.

The tell-tale blush stole on Edith's face, as a realizing sense of her
situation came upon her, and, for a long time, she dared not look up,
much less speak. Suddenly the Rifleman made a spring in the air, and
drew a deep breath, as though seized with a mortal pain.

"What's the matter?" asked Edith, in a tremor of apprehension.

"Oh! it nearly killed me!" replied the hunter, in a faint voice.

"What? Do tell me. Are you hurt? What caused it?"

"Why, Edith, _didn't you squeeze my hand_?"

"If I did, it was _certainly unintentional_."

"Never mind. I thought it was on purpose."

The merry, musical laugh of the maiden rung out through the
forest-arches, and the Rifleman, for the time, lost all thoughts of
Indians and danger; but this delightful forgetfulness could not last
long. As the faint rumble of thunder was heard in the distance, he
started, as though awakened from a dream, and looked furtively around
him, half expecting to see his dread foes start from behind the trees,
and rush upon him.

"Are you frightened?" asked Edith.

"Only for you," he replied, with a natural gallantry.

"And why are you alarmed on my account? What has occurred that makes
you walk faster, and look so constantly about you?"

"Edith," said the hunter, in a low voice of passionate tenderness, "you
have lived on the frontier long enough to be familiar with its dangers.
When I first saw you, it was in an awful situation for a gal like
yourself, but you bore it like a man. I 'spose, therefore, that there's
no use in keeping any thing back from you."

"Of course not. What good could that possibly do?"

"Well, then, it's my opinion that _some one is following us_."

"What makes you think so?" asked Edith, in genuine alarm; for there is
something startling in the sudden knowledge that a foe is pursuing us,
when ther