Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 8, Number 28, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 5 January 1878 — Page 6

m#

THE MAIL

A PAPER

KOU TIIK

IF WE WQULD.

Ifw» wn*d b"i* chenk the speaker Wh»»n h«* spoils his neighbor's flame If wit wiuM bat hHp the erring

Ew wn utter wonls of blame it w«» would, how raanv might we Turn from paths of sin and shame!

Ah tho wrongs that might be righted, If we wo lid but soe tho way Ah the woes that m»«ht be blighted

Every hoar a*d every dav, II we would bat hear the pleadings Of the hearts that go astray!

L«t us step oatalde the stronghold Of our *elflshness and pHrte Let as lift oar fatntlag brothers

Let us strengthen ere we chide Let us, ere we blame the fallen. Hold a light to cheer and guide.

Ah how blemed ah how blessed Earth wo 'id be. did we but try Thus to rid and right the weaker.

Thus to check each-brother's sigh Thus to talk of duty's pathway To our better life on high.

In each llfehowever lowly, There are seeds of mighty good 8till. we shrink from uls appealing

With a timid "If we could But the God, who judgetli all things. Knows the truth is, "if we would."

SARATOGA.

—AN—

IXDTAy TALE OF Fit ~XTlMi LIFE.

A TRUE STORY.

f" Saratoga was commenced in The Pat urday Evening Mail, Vol.8, No 10, October flth. Back ntm bers can be had of newsdealers, or at this office,or sent by mall for Ave cents each.]

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ELECTIVE AFFINITIES.

Tho next morning was fair, bright and still. At an early hour, even before sunrise, the party of pleasure wbiob bad occupied tbe tent

during

These vapory transcripts of the watery features the country, only fade away when the rays of tbe ascending sun begin to fall upon them, though often stirred by some auroral breeze tbey are huddled off in vast squadrons, and disappear among tho woods and bills around.

But we have no time fully to trace or dwell UDon all the varying and picturesque objects which might attract the notice of an appreciating eye in the vicinity where our scenes are laid. Many such mornings, and many 'such views must be fresh in the recollection of most of our readers.

Tbe sun had been up for along time, and most of the occupants of Brigham's cabin had gone forth, before Lucile had awoke from the deep sleep into which she had fallen the night before. So profoundly indeod had she slumbered that not tbe least, most flitting, or remote idea of the events of the last eighteen hours, remained in her mind. Her senses during that period seem to have been, like drowsy sentinels as they were all oft duty or unmindful of it. This space of time was therefore an utter blank in ber existence—a void spanned by no bridge of overarching memories.

Bnt though this period was thus, so to speak,

Btricken

from her existence, it

did not carrv into oblivion any of the events anterior to it. With them, there was still complete connection. All that bad transpired since this eventful expedition was commenced, was fresh in uer mind—each individual circumstance was clearly engraved upon ber memory in sharp and inerasable outlines. Upon them therefore did her first waking thoughts turn. Each event was passed in review, but all rapidly and successively like a running file of troops. Her naiad seemed to take them all in, without pause or interval—or rather seemed to sweep over them, as a skillful band sweeps the keys of a piano, so that each circumstance, like a note, gave out its peculiar tone, and produced its particu-lar-effect, though all so rapidly that a single second sufficed to begin and end the task.

But after these events, what had happened? What was tho mv«tery of her forgetfulnes* and how and why came she in tho procise position in wbich she found herself on waking? She was not unwell, at least she did not now feel herself to be so. She rose up and looked out. The day was far advanced, the birds sang by the window, the peaceful trees hung their deep green branches between her and the blue sky above. The whole world seemed to be in repose.

But we mu«c not, or ra'herwe can not, leave her I'one. As she stood thus in thoughtful silence by the window, .she heard a light step behind ber and on turning, saw Marion, who was coming to salute her with a smile as bright and oheerful as tbe morning itself. Their affectionate greeting was uttered in that universal language, a kiss which with the young expresses more, and goes more directly to the heart, than any words which have ever been devised by tho scholar, or any phrases which have ever been invented by the poet. •And so, «fear, you feel quite well this morning, do you not?' said Marion, 'Well?' answered Lucile. interrogatively: 'have I then been ill?' •Only a little,' replied Marion. 'Don't you refneinber yesterday, when we eame'back from the Indian village, Vbat von felt low spirited, and had a alight headache. •I dont remember anything about it, I OBIT remember—bat I remember It well-dooming back from that dreadful cavern with Arthur—with Mr. Waloott but for all that may have occurred sinoe I teal aaif I had then fhllen into asleep ttom which I have but this moment awoke.' •Do yon mean to say,* asked Marion, with surprise, 'that you do not remember how Mr. Waloett, as you will call hint, went away in search of the craxy man afterwardr •Ob! yes,' exclaimed Ladle, 'now that yoa Mention it, 1 tkink I do remember something about tbf& But, Marion,

-s tj^

PEOPLE.

the previous

night, decamped and soon after, might have been seen in gay procession, and in high spirits, moving to the northeastward along the rude roadway in which we first introduced it to the notice of the reader.

There was the same blowing of trumpets, the game praneing of horses, the Bame tossing of bright plumes in the air, and the same voices of merriment now as then. While the horizon in the east was rosy with tbe uprising light of day, a thin white line of vapor, some miles distant, stretched its fleece like, rolling •coil of gauze above tbe bed of Saratoga Lake—marking thus to curious eves, where that beautiful sheet of water lay, hushed in the moist and dewy repose of unbroken morning. Such banks of log In these latitudes, are sometimes to be seen in summer, and always in the autumn, at.dnwn, banging over lakes and rivers and in the latter case, giving in the atmosphere a rude reverse of its sinuous outline.

what has been th* matter with me? I hope I was not delirious als-V abe continued, laughing. 'Yen, but you were, though,' anawerea Marlon. ... ,*u •What, I delirious?'asked Luoile, with quick surprise and not a little alarm. •Wild!' answered Marion.

1U

Lucile stood stupefied, and looked the picture of embarrassment, incredulity and afTright. 'But,' continued ber companion, will tell you all about it by and by. Tn tbe meantime you must let me be your dressing maid for a little while. I don believe you would like to see pap® °r Arthur In your present plight—and they are anxious to see you, I can tell you that.'

But we leave the two thus talking, asking and answering questions requesting and giving explanations with girlish intimacy and frankness, while we, for a time, look after tbe course and position ofsome others concerned in our story*

At an early hour in the morning Walcot bi* mne out in order to pay his respect* to his old

friend,

Kd'taken

though his re­

cent enemy, Floyd, who, as had been arranged, was to stay behind after the

rty which he accompanied thither its departure. The two young men, being both or a frank and liberal disposition, soon became as communicative and almost as cordial as they had been of old. The events which had transpired, and the casualties and adventures which had befallen each since their former intimacy, furnished abundant matter of conversation and, in tbe interest of it, an hour or so was passed pleasantly enough. After this they returned to Brigbam bouse where they met Colonel Belden.

We have said that while the two young men were alone_ together they had conversed freely arid without constraint. We should have said that such was tbe fact upon all subjects excepting one. This topic, which each secretly and instinctively avoided was, as may readily be surmised, tbe relations in which they respectively stood to Miss Belden.

Waicott felt anxious, as soon as it was possible, that tbe old colonel sboliid be made acquainted with tbe new feelings which had risen up hetween himself and Marion, like a banter, to prevent their union but he also felt that tbe task of communicating the intelligence was one of great delicacy and of dubious issue.

Until this little cloud on his immediate prospects should be dissipated, he did not feel at liberty to make his own position in reference to the young lady the subject of any conversation with third parties.

For manifold reasons, on tbe other hand. Floyd was most anxious to know how Waicott stood in the family, but, at the same time, he was conscious that it would beimpossiblo to clear up the subject by a direct inquiry. To both of them, therefore, there was food for much reflection, and room for anxious doubt.

Tbe secret truth might be favorable to the wishes of either or each but even if so, was it likely that Colonel Belden would look with an approving eye upon the new arrangements whicb fate was silently shaping forth for them? Was it not rather probable that the plan of marriage between Waicott and his daughter, now in the way of being broken off, was one fixed upon and considered settled, and for their best interests, years before, so that to change it would be to uproot, in tbe old man's inind, a prejudice of long growth, and difficult of eradication? Was it not likely that in its early determination no thought was given to tbe feelings with which tbe parties immediately concerned might regard it?

Upon that subject it is well known that the old and the young have never yet been able to look with the same eye. The old are forever providing for marriages of interest, and the young as constantly think only of marriages of affection.

Tbe former forget to allow for the impulses of youth, and seem to think that obvious advantages of a pecuniary and social character, must weigh as strongly at the age of eighteen as they do at eighty while the latter, in truth, very rarely think of any point but tbe simple feelings of nature wnich induce the preference, and which, like a golden halo, outdazzle all other objects.

An experience of six thousand years has not yet corrected the misconceptions of age, or the imprudences of youth on this subject and were the world ten thousand years old at this moment, it is not at all likely that its octogenarians would be any the wiser herein from their own experience, or that its marriageable young men would be any the more disposed to regulate thoir connubial arrangements by the experience of others.

It was not to be doubted that Colonel Belden had long contemplated the union of his daughter with Waicott—that it had become incorporated with all his plans for the future. Any change, therefore, would be a great thing for him to consider—a disarrangement of his designs, and possibly a disappointment of his hopes.

No matter what substitution might be proposed, no matter if the change promised to he better for hl^ daughter in all those particulars In which be considered tbe true eligibility of a marriage to consist, still the change would be vast, and the contemplation of it, at least in the outset, would be repugnant to his feelings.

There is a period in almost every summer dav, thortly after noon, when, as everybody's experience will corroborate, the air is peculiarly still, and when all nature seems to invite to repose. It is during this hour that people of torrid latitudes take tbe well known siesta. It is also then that the hardy and bard laboring peasant of severer climates lays himself down for a short after dinner

8leep—a

relaxation from toil, which he

enjoys with as keen a zest, and with as high a sense of its luxury as tbe brightest eyed, most tenderly nurtured, and most priucelv maiden of the Antilles, or the Austral "islands. The Influences of nature work alike upon tbe roughest, and upon tbe most delicate of animated heings—and lay tbe ox and the gazelle, the peasant and the lady, alike under contribution.

It was at this bushed hour of the midday, when everything around was full of "repofce, and 'invited to somnolence, that Lucile Valcour and Arthur Waicott were silently walking side by side along a solitary, sunlit pathway ot the forest. The direction whicb they bad taken was toward tbe southward from the cabin.

Their ramble had originated in a careless, or seemingly careTeos, chat, and in an unguided and purposeless stroll. They had been lured on by the coolness of the shadows, and now and then by the temptation to call some fresh wild flower, as It grew by the side of their path, and filled the grove with its fragrance.

It was not by design that, as their conversation went on, tbey involuntarily sought more and more to be alone. It was because the sentiments which began by degrees to sparkle in their eves, to flush their cheeks, and to be spoken more and more directly by their lips,

l®

were not sentiments which either of them would have desired any other human being to bear or to discover. It was an involuntary, Instinotlve impulse of secrecy whicb bad guided their footsteps.

And now tbey were already at some distance from the point whence they bad started. It is not for ua to lift the vail from feelings wbich tbey so sedulously sought lo conceal. It is enough for us to know that, despite of all re straints of formality, tbey now walked not only side by side, bnt band in band. Tbe somnifia influences of tbe hour were unfelt by them. Tbe distant song of birds, wbich at intervals, sud in drowsy notes, was still heard from leafy thickets, seemed as joyous and spirit stirring to them as the first clarion notes which the same birds had sent forsh at daybreak.

Upon the cbeekof tbe girl was a flush wbiob was not that of fever. In her eye was alight wbich was not that of delirium.

And yet, for all the potent pleasure wbiob bound them thus in solitsry companionship, and for all the words of magnetic slgnlflcance which betrayed so well to each tbe passionate happiness of the other, as yet, no words or actual love—at least of their own love—prosed between tbem. Such words would have seemud an utter superfluity. There had been a mingling of sentiment their sympathies were alike their thoughts dwelt on kindred topics and their hopes and feelings flowed in unison. The voices of their hearts hsd spoken, and, like according notes, sounded harmoniously.

In whatever they saw, in whatever tbey beard, in whatever tbey thought and uttered, they seemed te discover a common point of interest aud a conviction—a most pleasing, overpowering conviction—bag gradually stolen upon tbe mind of each as to the cause of this wonderful unity of thought and cmo tion.

From what fountain but one, could such mighty happiness flow? Alas! to tbe heart or youth there is but one sucb fountain in the wide, waste, melancholy world while age has proved, or believes that it has proved, even this to be adelusion—an unsubstantial mirage of tbe desert. But still to tbe young, love, that source of SI) much hope, is ever sought for, 'as the hart panteth after the water brook.'

The poisonous drafts which are sometimes partaken from it, are as yet unsuspected. Sweet are those streams to tbe taste. They are the fabled nectar of the heathen gods—as grateful to the pal ate as the waters of everlasting life—till tbe sad lessons of experience have shown how often t^ey become the wa ters of oblivion, or like the contents of a poisoned chalice, to partake of wbich leads to early sorrow, or to premature death.

And yet, though the happiness may be unenduring, what heart, though seared by time and worldly care, can tail to sympathize with those emotions of early life? In after years there are none such. They are the high noon of earthly joy. After them, life goes on decayir.gly and solemnly to its shadowy sunset.

Oh! joy of early love! How foolish in the remembrance of tbe selfish and tbe worldly minded but how embalmed and sacred in the memory of such as appreciate life, and its struggles, its ambitions, arid its sorrows, at their true value.

Through the still woods, then, still wandetfd on that happy young pair. Tbe secret to them had been divulged— not by bashful and timid lips, but by tbe undeceiving eye, by the electrical touch, by the wide open mirror of harmonious and sympathetic thoughts. As yet each felt it to be a truth—a most pleasing, life involving truth but as for the lips—those observers ot forms, those servants of interest, those chroniclers of lies—tbey had not even whispered it.

And yet hapd in hand our lovers wandered on. When their hands were at first carelesslj joined, it was as if a chain had suddenly linked their several existences together—a seemingly indissoluble and potent chain. To withdraw their bands, then, might indeed divide their persons, but the moral links, intangible to the eye, inappreciable to the judgment, would still bind their hearts by their golden weight and magic rower.

Ah! then why withdraw those agitated and trembling fingers, so lovingly intertwined? Indeed, on behalf of Lucile, tbe unexplained sensation was as iftbat small white band, so given in token of feality, had found its natural home of protection. Where else could it go, or to what beside so confidingly cling?

And thus it was that the entranced girl, in her happiness, still left ber band where her heart would have placed it and felt as if her very soul, like an overcharged vase, was flowing thence and pouring off its fullness into tbe very heart of her lover.

Intense indeed was her happinessintense the happiness of each. No thought of time or place occurred to tbem. A broken conversation was still imperfectly kept up between tbem—on indifferent topics—on all topics, but one but still, in whatever was said, there was tbe same unvarying, invariable meauing. Who should break tbe charm, and why should it be broken?

In tbat joyous hour, eartb seemed like what tbe garden of Eden must have been before it was visited by tbe evil one. And although its happiness seemed almost unmingled, at intervals, faint glimmerings of •romembrance or apprehension would shoot up athwart their minds', as if to recall to tneir recollection, or give warning to their inexperience, tbat everything earthly was evanescent or delusive. But for this, wbv should tears—tears of happiness, sometimes appear in the young eyes of tbe tender hearted girl? Tears unbidden, and apparently uneaused? Alas! there is a solemn whispering of warning arising from the depths of each human soul, even in tbe moment of its greatest security and highest bliss. Hence, as they are called, "tearafof happiness." Is it supposed tbat angels, in the unclouded sky of everlasting life, ever weep for tbe intensity of their joy?

During this while, without material pause, did the two young people continue to yield to the impulse, which had thus far urged tbem on. We do not attempt to chronicle their words. We can not even give a faithful picture of their conduct. Was a fair flower visible near their path? It was soon in the hand, in the hair, or on tbe bosom of tbe blush-

^^astbere to be seen a glorious reach of azure sky shining through tbe tree tops far away, like a distant aerial lake? It was he that besought ber instant at* tention to it, and found some neighboring hillock, or moss covered stene to bring it more clearly into view. Was a rough portion of tbe pathway to be surmounted, or a stony rivulet to be passed? It was his arm tbat supported her over the difficulties of tbe one and guided ber footsteps through the intricacies or the other. And how much was to be said between them! Each was to unfold to tbe other a map of bis or her past life, with its lights and shadows, like a landscape its eminences of hope, and its valleys of sorrow.

4.*

liiiit

a

&

1

TERKE HAUTE SATURDAY B\ KNINiS MAI1.

-.

Thus In their memories lay wide fields of discourse, bleb years of communion would scarcely suffloe to travel over. In nature, too, tbat beautiful and varie gated nature, whose myriad objects of wonder surrounded them, what stores of mystery, and what mnltitudinous topics of thought! And ye*, on all these things, their conversation lingered but briefly.

As if on tbe wing, it passed lightly over a wide expsnse. and ever, In oirculargyrations, came back to dwell npon a theme more grateful to their hearts—a theme, wbich like tbe sun in a land sospe, illumined all other objects, and gave tbem life and beauty.

But upon tbis picture, so pleasing and so genial, we are unable any longer to dwell. The panoramic canvas moves on, and the scene must cbsnge. 1

UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER.

Near Waicott and his companion, for some time past, bad been moving an object very different in character and appearance from themselves. It was one well calculated to chase from their minds tbe halo of their present happiness, and all 'castles in the air' for the future.

Absorbed, however, as they were tbe contemplation of each other and tbeir own feelinga, it so far escaped tbeir attention. This object was neither more or less than our old acquaintance, Jacob, who, for some time, with all tbe stealth of a cat, and the perseverance of sleuth hound, had been spying their movements and hanging upon their footsteps.

Not tbe rustling of a leaf, the fall an acorn, the crackling of a stick, or the flight of a bird taking suddenly to wing, betrayed his presence or his passage. Long practice had enabled bim to move as noiselessly through the forest as his own shadow.

And during this while be was well worth a little attention for, as be dart ed behind tbe great brown trees, and peered ont from leafy bushes, hi# eyes *hone, if possible, more fiercely and maliciously than ever. To add to the formidableness of his aspect, he now carried in his hands a huge bludgeon. It was still rough with unshorn knots and bark.

But, notwithstanding its obvious weight and size, its possessor bandied it with as much ease as if it had been an ordinary walking stick. In his grasp it was, most, assured! y, a murderous looking weapon. It might readily fell an ox, and when swung by the brawny arms whicb row held it, upon whatsoever hu man head it might descend, it must come with a crushing power, sufficient to produce instant death.

Close upon the footsteps of our two young people did this wild Hercules thus "continue to follow, unheard and unseen. A double motive seemed to be actuating him. Tbat he still looked upon Lucile as in some way belonging to himself, was most probably

rfS*. 6&-,

mm

CHAPTER XXIX.

and

tbat

he now began to regard Waicott, not only as a man to be feared, but as one to be avenged upon, might be argued from tbe formidable preparations he had made to meet him. Besides, until now he bad always, from whatever cause it might arise, sought rather to avoid, than to be near tbe young man. His present conduct, therefore, indicated some change in his disposition.

Meanwhile, be to whom this change was principally important was quite ignorant of it. Had it been otherwise, it would probably not have caused htm any uneasiness on his own account. He was f&r too sanguine and self reliant for that. But it might have occasioned bim some apprehension on account of his fair companion, who was too unused to such dangers, and had been too recently in the power of the maniac not to be nervously and perhaps hysterically alive to tbe horrors of bis terrible presence.

They had been walking for a long time, and had commenced their return toward tbe hut. At a little distance ahead of them was a thick copse of scrub pine, through the midst of which the path wound its way. Toward this, as they slowly moved along, Jacob, by a little circuit, hurried forward so as to anticipate them in reaching it. It was a convenient and almost impenetrable ambush. He succeeded in arriving there before tbem, an* still unseen. Here he ensconsed himself with all secrecy and care, taking up such a position as would enable bim to fall upon bis victims with almost certain effect. He waited in silence while they slowly approached.

For them tbe occasion was not one of baste. With lingering footsteps, and voices modulated to tbe harmony of the arest echoes, they seemed to have given themselves up to the intoxicating influences of the hour and tbe occasion. The trees, shrubs, and flowers wbich they passed, and which tempted them, at

every

moment, to pause in contemplation of a new beauty, or to dwell upon the varied sentiments suggested by tbem were only so far observed as tbey were the occasion of a C6AS©l©88 play and change of fancy in their minds, and as tbey seemed to cast moving lights and shadows upon their thoughts, as they did upon tbe leaf strewn earth at their feet*

But, linger as they would, the two

?tnglh

rouug people still advanced, and, at arrived in front of Jacob's ambush. let, even there, tbe. absorbing theme which bad so withdrawn tbeir thoughts from outward objects, continued to occupy them. This theme, however, had not yet been distinctly dis-

CUEtech

thought of nothing else, and yet,

each shunned to mention it, as if the happiness it involved was too greafto believe in, or tbe disappointment it might occasion would be too bitter to sunrive. But to them its dazzling luster was still attractive, and around it they continued to flutter, like moths around a candle.

They were now within two circles of danger, the one mental, the other physical. To one, they had been for some time exposed, and they were just treading across the outer verge or the ether. Slowly tbey passed by the fatal place of concealment. It was tbe moment of peril. Behind tbem glided, like a phantom, the ill omened form of the wild

"^Already is bis arm upheaved, bearing ponderous club, when—hark! there sea upon the still air, in sharp, startling echoes, the long, shrill, sonorous cry of a hound! As quickly as if struck bv a ball, did Waicott turn in tbe path. It was ink in timel Before him stood tbe Titanic Jacob, with threatening mien and attitude. But upon bim there fell a glance, before wbich his eye bad ever quailed. Like an Arctic wfnter, it froze bim where he stood. His courage and his limbs were stricken withinstantaneous inaction, as with a paralysis.

Sternly and steadily aooroach him. He covered him with fate eye, as a hunter does his game. He enveloped him with a magic influence. It

waa

too much for brute force.

S8R:

w-i%:fw^^ '. «,

whKh was being put upon him, and rushed violently through the woods. Loud and discordant cries filled the air, as he disappeared and some minutes elapsed before the unnatural sounds were silenced by distance. It was not^ until then that Waicott looked about him to see what bad become of his corn panion.

He found her lying npon the ground, pa'e ind motionless, The sudden eisht of Jacob, in his menacing attitude, had l»een t»o much for her nerves, painfully excitable as they were, after ber recent exposure and illnes*.

The voung man was Instantly by her side. Ike knew that ahe had fainted, ani that the danger was not imminent but the case was sufficiently serious for all tbat. With quick alarm, he bethought him of what to do It was but the work of a moment for him to run to a neighboring ri\ulet, and in the hollow or his hand, to bring a little coo! water wbich he dashed in her face. Kneeling beside ber then, be half lifted her in his arms and while holding her head, with watchful tenderness, he waited for the signs of returning consciousness with painful anxiety. At that moment, he easi'y forgot his reserve, snd words of end°»r!nent broke from his lips involuntarily, as he besought her to revive, giving assurance that the danger was past.

In a few minutes she began to breathe again, while ber pulse, like a disturbed pendulum, slowly resumed the regularity of its oscillation. Then opening her eyes, with a start, it was some seconds before she appeared to comprehend the situation in wbich sbe found herself. She rose up quickly and in an impulse of gratitude, while the returning blood crimsoned her cheek and forehead, she took his hand in a half caress, while she could not help saying: •Ab! thank heaven, you are safe after all! It seems to me lixe a frightful dream. Let us return at once, and no longer be exposed to thatdreadful man.' •Yes, safe,' be replied 'and you need never be alarmed, for him, when I am with you. You see how he fled.'

At this moment a voice, well known to Lucile, was heard behind tbem. suddenly exclaiming: 'Good God! mv daughter, what is all this I see? And what bus happened to you. I pray?' 'My father! It is my lather!' cried Lucile, as she darted from Waicott, and flung herself, with tears, into the arms of tbe old man, for it was indeed her father who had come.

Our old acquaintance the dog, too, whose opportune outcry had given warning of Jacob's fell intent, now testified his joy at the meeting by leaping and gamboling around the party, in all ways in which canine gratulation is usuallv expressed. •Why, Prince,' said Lucile, patting the dog, after the transports of her meet ingwith her father were over, 'where have you been this long time? I am afraid you are but a truant of a dog, after all, and I have a great mind not to speak to yon.' •You need not think hardly of hiin, Lucile,' said Mr. Valcour 'for if he left jou, it was only to come to me to give warning that my presence was necessary (here he glanced slightly at the young man) or perhaps that something had happened to you for I see that you are pale and ill, my poor child! 8o come! tell rneall about it. But first allow me to greet mv friend here.'

Wale tt, who, after the meeting of the father and daughter, and up to this moment, out of respect for their

hardly

Minu,

the ^iater of tbe world, was still master here.

With a wild shout of fear, rage and disappointment, tbe maniac, by a convulsive effort, broke away from the spell

feelings,

had remained somewhat apart, now came forward to salute Mr. Valcour in his turn.

During this proceeding the cheek of tbe young girl was illttmined by a flush a little more marked than usual but the self possession of the true lady, and the confidence she felt in the truthfulness and dignity of ber feelings, still made her manner composed, and in the eye of a lover at least, more charming than ever. 'He is, sir,' she said, as she took Waicott by tbe hand, and led him to her father 'he is thrice mypfeservei and you have to thank him many times, my dear father, for the life of your child.' 'Believe not her extravagance, my good air,' said Waicott. 'I have dory} no more than what any man, not to say any gentleman, would have felt himself bound to do under the same circum stances and I am only too happy to have been the one whose lot It was to be of use in this case.' •But, dear father,' she broke in, «you do not know! The story is such a frightful one! Such a dreadful creature has been haunting ue! 1 thought I saw him but now, and it was that—bis standing with such a great club, and threatening to strike Mr. Walcott-it was tbat which made me foolish—made mo faint, I beliov^' •Such is the fact, sir,' said Waicott •there is a poor maniac wandering in tbe woods here, who is sometimes a little violent and but for our timely exertions, he might have done some evil. As your daughter says, he was here but a moment ago, and apparently with some bad purpose. 1 turned around at the noise made by tbe dog, and saw him stealing toward us. You yourself must have observed him, or at least have beard him, before be got away?' •It was, I suppose, the strange looking creature tbat I took for an Indian as I came up,' replied the old man 'he ran off with a horrible outcry. Still, whatever the story may be, it seenn too long to be told now I have, In tbe meanwhile, to thank you, air, for the services wbich my daughter ssys you have rendered to her. Believe me, I am more touched by kindness to her, than if It bad been extended to myself. You can

appreciate how highly I prise a

service done to one I cherish so dearly. As be spoke thus, be laid one of his bands, trembling with emotion, upon the head of bis child while he extended tbe other cordially to Waicott.

It soon appeared from wbat Mr. valcour said, that in traveling through the woods on horseback, tbe attention of himself and his companion bad been, a shoit time before, attracted bv the uneasy and remarkable conductor tbe dog tbat bad accompanied them. He began whining and running about ahead of

them,

and at last breaking off from the track they wero pursuing, ran some distance to tbe westward, yelping, and with his nose upen tbe ground as if upon a trail. He did not however go out or sight, but as soon as he discovered tbat be was not followed paused, turned about, and set up a low howl, as if to beckon pursuit.

Mr. Valcour. who had already been uiach disturbed by apprehensions for bis daughter's safely, though without being able to assign any good reasons for it, still determined to ascertain what tbeee singular movement* of tbe beast light signify. He, therefore, dismount_ig, followed him for a short distance into the brake. It was at this time tbat tbe warning cry of tbe alarmed brute bad so startled Waloott and, by inducing him instantly to turn about, had most probably saved his life.

All three now directed tbeir course to tbe spot at which Mr Valcour had left bis horse in charge of his traveling companion. As however, tbe distance ChfinAa to tbe house of Brigham was not

+'***?•-*i

great, they took the beaten track thither on foot, the horses being meanwhile sent forward. Tbis walk afforded them an opportunity to make such explanations as were desired, and Mr. Valcour now beard a foil recital

of

tbe events

which bad lately transpired. His astonishment and alarm, even though the danger was past, were extreme.

In particular, was bis wonder excited by the rare instinct of the dog, which seemed have been sone'hing superior to intellect itself, in thus apprehending dangers which no human wisdom could, under the circumstanccs, have dreamed of. Great also was the old man's thankfulness. With a swelling heart,again and again were his acknowledgements uttered. With what pride, with what pleasure, did Lucile see and hear expressed by ber father, eone part of the deep gratitude which filled her own heart, but to which, as sbe thought, she would nerer be able to give adequate expression.

Waicott himself was greatly pleased at tbe thought that, whether deserving or not, his conduct bad thus won approval, in a quarter wbere he now valapproval most.

After a short walk they all reached tbe ground. Here they were encounby Indian Joe. "Seen big Jake in woods, oh?" he asked of Waicott. "Yes," said the other "but why do you ask? But I see you have a gun there. I hope you don't mean to use it if you meet him?" ••Don't know," said Joe, coolly. "Pray don't be so cross with poor Joe," here interposed Lucile In a whisper, addressing Waicott for she saw tbat he was not pleaied, and that another quarrel with Joe migbt take place. The young man was strongly inclined to interfere with the half-fix pressed purpose of the savage, and tbat by some positive prohibition but the voice which now spoke to him came like music over the uprising discord of his heart, and soothed bis harsher purpose. Her appealing tones at that moment, provea omnipotent. Within his own heart, sat a sceptered magician, that swayed him with a despotic, though a genial power. Under this strong curb, he refrained from saying anything more to the half-breed, at that moment but observed him so far as to note that bo went off into the thicket without holding any further discourse with any one, or vouchsafing any further explanation of his designs.

After they had preceeded a little further they were also met by Brigham, who came forward saying to the young people: "Where the deuce have you been so long? The colonel is in'a great way about you. But I can't te-i all thatrs happened since ye strayed off. You'll find it out soon enough yourselves, I reckon. "But," said Waicott, smiling, "you can give us some idea of these new wonders can yon not? Nobody else carried off, I hope?" "No," answered Brigham, "yet stop now I come to think "on't, there was. Major Fl^yd was carried oft— his own bsss!"

S'You don't mean to say that^bo has taken his lease in this abrupt manner?" "Yes but I do, though," replied Brigham: "can't guess tbe reason on't.. May bo an order from head quarters. But I suppose the colonel ran explain it all. So come along, you and your friends, for I see you've got another oue or so.' 'Yes, Brigham,' answered Waicott, •this gentlemen is Mr. Valcour, tbe father of the young lady.' •Well,' said Brigham, 'he'd be welcome even if he was an entire stranger and so he's sure to be welcome as tho father of the young woman. She's a nice and deserving gal, though it's I that say it and I dare say she hai a fond father, Bince she turns tbe heads of strapping young tellers like you and me, eh, captain?'

Nice feelings and a delicate address were never tbe distinguishing characteristics of men of Brigham's stamp. It was not without a blush that Waicott listened to his rude attempts at civility and politeness—a blush partly of pleasure and partly of shame—of pleasure at the intended praise of Lucile, and of shame not only at the rough work he made of it, but at the suspicion that Brigham bad already somo sort of vague perception of his feelings towards the young lady.

On tbis point be felt sensitive enough. The idea of his secret sentimonts being known—sentiments which he had as yet scarcely dared to avow to himself, gave him the keenest annoyance. Besides he had had no explanation with Colonel Belden, who might, like others, bave his eyes open to what was going on about bim and who might not by any means relish either tbe new state or things, or the nice little arrangenent between Waicott and bis daughter, by wbich it bad been furthered, if not brought about. It is true the young man desired bim to be informed of all these things, and tbat as speedily as possible but yet he desired to have it done in a particular way, so tbat the intelligence would produce neither a shock or a fit of indignation.

It would be Infinitely better, he thought, that full explanation should first be given by Marlon. He asked himself why it was that tbe old gentleman was, as Brigbam had intimated, anxious for bis return? Why also had Major Floyd so suddenly departed? Had tbe two events any connection? But it was useless to speculate. It was useless also to endeavor to bide frofn himself tbat be felt some foreboding. Though be fully justified bis own conduct to himself, he was of course entirely in the dark as to what view the old colonel might take of it. In approaching him therefore, he did so with some of tbe feelings with wbich a culprit aomes before a judge. [TO BB CONTINUED.]

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