But after she was quiet they soon returned, barking vociferously, and sporting with their old abandon. It was not long since they had left the next in the old hemlock tree, and they were still like Ida, before she had learned that there was anything in the world that could harm her. Other wild creatures flew or scampered by, some stopping to look at her with their bright quick eyes, as if wondering why she was so still and sad. the woods seemed full of joyous midsummer life, and Ida sighed: "Innocent, happy little things; but if they knew what was in my heart, they would be so frightened they could scarcely creep away to hide." Then with a sudden rush of passionate grief, she cried: "Oh, why cannot I life and be happy, too?" and she sobbed till she lay exhausted on the mossy rock. Whether she had swooned, or from weakness had become unconscious, she did not know, when, considerably later, she roused herself from what seemed like a heavy and unrefreshing sleep. Her dress was damp with dew, the sun had sunk so low as to fill the forest with a sombre shade; the happy life that had sported around her was hushed and hidden, and the wind now sighed mournfully through the trees. Gloom and darkening shadows had taken the place of the light and joyousness she first had seen. In the face and voices of nature, as in those of earthly friends, the changes are often so great that we are tempted to ask in dismay, are they--can they be the same? She was stiff and cold as she rose from her rocky couch, but she wearily turned her face towards the hotel, muttering, as she plodded heavily along, "The little people of the woods are happy while they can be, as I was, but the sportsman's gun, or the hawk, or winter's cold, will soon bring to them bitter pain, and death. their brief day will soon be over, as mine is." "Ah, the sun is sinking behind that cloud," she said, in a low tone, as she came out into the open fields. "I shall not see it again; it will not be able to warm me to-morrow;" and with a slight gesture of farewell, she continued on her way with bowed head. Chapter XXXVIII. A Good Man Speaks. As Ida approached the hotel, Van Berg and Stanton saw her, and the latter hastened down the steps to join her. "Why, Ida!" he exclaimed, "where have you been? I've searched for you high and low." "You had no right to do so, sir," she said coldly, as she passed on. "Wait a moment, Ida, please. I wish to speak with you--to ask your pardon--to apologize in the strongest terms." She would not break again her ominous silence, but continued on with bowed head, up the steps, and through the hall. Stanton, to save appearances before the guests who were near, walked at her side, but her manner chilled and embarrassed him so greatly, that only as she was about to enter her room did he again address her, and now entreatingly: "Ida, won't you speak to me?" "No!" was her stern, brief response; and she locked her door against him.