“And would do it agin,” said Earth; “you know nothing about Ingens. He is the cause of all this fracas now, and has brought down war upon our heads. What say you, Rolfe; the governor wants volunteers; suppose we go on and take a brush; I reckon this will be about the last chance we shall have, and I am getting right rusty: I hain't killed one now for nearly a year. This business of collecting taxes, and keeping out of the woods, civilizes one mightily. I feel so slick and smooth, I hardly know myself,—what say you?” “Why, we will talk about that another time; if there is a necessity, we will go. But I am thinking of something else. Earth, the idea will sometimes come across my mind, that the girl who was captured, is the same I once loved.” “It is all nonsense, Rolfe, you are nation hard to satisfy,—didn't that letter from Petersburg put it all straight?” “Why, yes; it does seem so, but, you know, I caught a glimpse of her face.” “Well now,” said Earth, “if you set up your glimpses agin black and white, I've got no more to say about it.” Rolfe, seeing that Earth was not in a humour to converse on the subject which he had most at heart, was silent; and Earth then asked, “Did you never hear any thing from the old woman nor the Ingen boy.” “Never,” said Rolfe, “not a word.” “Just like 'em,” said Earth, “I never know'd one, that was worth a ninepence”—then pausing an instant, he added, “I beg the Prophet's pardon, he is worth a dollar.” “Why so?” inquired Rolfe. “Because,” said Earth, “he has roasted so many of 'em. But Rolfe, what can the fellow be arter? if 'twas white men he burned, I could see through it plain enough, but he takes Ingens altogether, and then he picks the best of 'em, and besides this, I am told, he has run 'em all mad, and made 'em believe they can catch the whites in log traps as I used to catch 'coons.” “I cannot tell,” said Rolfe, and he shuddered, for there passed through his mind the thought that the captive maiden might be she whom he loved, and would yet be brought to the stake. Earth saw him shudder, and thinking he was cold, stirred up the fire, and replenished his pipe. The wind still howled as it hurried past, and Rolfe also drew his chair closer, complained of being cold, and added fuel to the fire. “I hate a night like this,” said Earth, “it always make me think of spirits.” “Rather makes you drink spirits,” said Rolfe; “will you have some?” “No, I was not speaking of that; you know I don't hate a little, if it is good, worse than any thing else in this world, but that has nothing to do with it. I mean that a night like this always makes me think of ghosts.” “Earth, you don't believe in ghosts?” “Don't I believe what I see, and havn't I seen them?” “I think not,” said Rolfe. “Well, now the difference is, I think I have,” said Earth. “Well Earth, I see we can't agree about ghosts, but there is one thing I wish you would tell me.” “What is it?”