rous one. She certainly has a strange way of
showing her affection; but it must be confessed, you gave her some
provocation; and as the poet says, `Hell knows no fury like a woman
scorned.'"

"That's true, stranger!"

"Her conduct, however, has been too violent to admit of justification.
You appear to have been unfortunate in your sweethearts--with each in an
opposite sense. One loves you too much, and the other apparently not
enough! But how is it you did not see her again--Marian I mean!"

"Well, you understand, I wan't on the best of tarms wi' old Hick Holt,
an' couldn't go to his clarin'. Besides after what had happened. I
didn't like to go near Marian anyhow--leastway for a while. I thort it
would blow over 's soon's she'd find out that E war only jokin' wi' the
Injun."

"So one would have supposed."

"'Twar nigh two weeks afore I heerd anything o' her; then I larned that
she war gone away. Nobody could tell why or whar, for nobody knew,
'ceptin Hick Holt hisself; an' he ain't the sort o' man to tell
saycrets. Lord o' mercy! I know _nowt_ an' it's worse than I expected.
I'd sooner heerd she war dead."

A deep-drawn sigh, from the very bottom of his soul, admonished me that
the speaker had finished his painful recital.

I had no desire to prolong the conversation. I saw that, silence would
be more agreeable to my companion; and, as if by a mutual and tacit
impulse, we turned our horses' heads to the path, and proceeded onward
across the glade.

As we were about entering the timber on the other side, my guide reined
up his horse; and sat for a moment gazing upon a particular spot--as if
something there had attracted his attention.

What? There was no visible object--at least, none that was remarkable--
on the ground, or elsewhere!

Another sigh, with the speech that followed, explained the singularity
of his behaviour, "Thar!" said he, pointing to the entrance of the
forest-path--"thar's the place whar I last looked on Marian!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

A PREDICAMENT IN PROSPECT.

For half a mile beyond the glade, the trace continued wide enough to
admit of our riding abreast; but, notwithstanding this advantage, no
word passed between us. My guide had relapsed into his attitude of
melancholy--deepened, no doubt, by the intelligence he had just
received--and sat loosely in his saddle, his head drooping forward over
his breast. Bitter thoughts within rendered him unconscious of what was
pas