oint was fordable; and crossing over, we stood upon
the deserted camp-ground. With singular emotions, I walked amid the
smouldering fires--forming conjectures as to which of them might have
been graced by that fair presence. Where had she passed the night, and
what had occupied her thoughts? Were those gentle words still lingering
in her memory? Were they upon her lips? It was pleasant for me to
repeat them. I did not need to draw the writing forth. Long since were
the lines fixed in my remembrance--oft through my heart had vibrated the
burden of that sweet song:

"I think of thee--I think of thee!"

My reflections were not altogether unmingled with pain. Love cannot
live without doubts and fears. Jealousy is its infallible concomitant--
ever present as the thorn with the rose. How could I hope that one hour
of my presence had been sufficient to inspire in that young bosom the
passion of a life? It could scarcely be other than a slight
impression--a passing admiration of some speech, word, or gesture--too
transient to be true? Perhaps I was already forgotten? Perhaps only
remembered with a smile, instead of a sigh? Though still but a short
time since our parting, many scenes had since transpired--many events
had occurred in the life of that young creature to give it experience.
Forms of equal--perhaps superior elegance--had come before her eye.
Might not one of these have made its image upon her heart?

The caravan was not a mere conglomeration of coarse rude adventurers.
There were men of all classes composing it--not a few of accomplished
education--not a few who, using a hackneyed phrase, were "men of the
world,"--familiar with its ways and its wiles--and who perfectly
understood all those intricate attentions and delicate lures, by which
the virgin heart is approached and captured. There were military men
too--those ever to be dreaded rivals in love--young officers of the
escort, laced, booted, and spurred--bedecked, moreover, with that
mysterious influence which authority ever imparts to its possessor.
Could these be blind to the charms of such a travelling companion?
Impossible. Or could she--her young bosom just expanding to receive the
god of love--fail to acknowledge the nearest form as his image?
Painfully improbable!

It was therefore with feelings of no very pleasant kind that I sought
around for some souvenir. The remains of a fire, a little apart from
the rest, near the edge of a piece