 would
naturally feel for a girl like me?«
    »I believe it's all nat'ral, Mabel; yes, I do; the Sarjeant tells me he had
such feelings towards your own mother, and I think I've seen something like it,
in the young people I have, from time to time, guided through the wilderness.
Yes, yes - I dare say it's all nat'ral enough, and that makes it come so easy,
and is a great comfort to me.«
    »Pathfinder, your words make me uneasy! Speak plainer, or change the subject
forever. You do not - cannot mean that - you - cannot wish me to understand -«
even the tongue of the spirited Mabel faultered, and she shrunk with maiden
shame, from adding what she wished so earnestly to say. Rallying her courage,
however, and determined to know all as soon and as plainly as possible, after a
moment's hesitation she continued - »I mean, Pathfinder, that you do not wish me
to understand that you seriously think of me as a wife?«
    »I do, Mabel; that's it - that's just it, and you have put the matter in a
much better point of view than I, with my forest gifts and frontier ways, would
ever be able to do. The Sarjeant and I have concluded on the matter, if it is
agreeable to you, as he thinks is likely will be the case, though I doubt my own
power to please one who deserves the best husband America can produce.«
    Mabel's countenance changed from uneasiness to surprise, and, then by a
transition still quicker, from surprise to pain.
    »My father!« she exclaimed. »My dear father has thought of my becoming your
wife, Pathfinder!«
    »Yes, he has, Mabel; he has indeed. He has even thought such a thing might
be agreeable to you, and has almost encouraged me to fancy it might be true.«
    »But, you, yourself - you, certainly can care nothing, whether this singular
expectation shall ever be realized or not?«
    »Anan?«
    »I mean, Pathfinder, that you have talked of this match more to oblige my
father than any thing else; that your feelings are no way concerned, let my
answer be what it may?«
    The scout looked earnestly into the beautiful face of Mabel, which had
flushed with the ardor and novelty of her sensations, and it was impossible to
mistake the intense admiration that betrayed itself
