“I will go away,” he said to his poor struggling heart. “I will go among the Red Men of the woods, and there, in solitude, and amid the vastness of nature, I will learn to school my heart; I will bury her image in the pathless woods, and return a new man.” Alas! how vain the effort to flee from that which we carry within us; to seek ’mid change of scene for that which we can never find—forgetfulness. CHAPTER VI. “The deepest sorrow that stern fate can bring In all her catalogue of suffering, To love, adore, and be beloved again; To know between you lies a gulf that ever Your forms, your hopes, your destinies must sever.” “Oh, Mabel dear, I am so tired; I have come so fast,” said Evelyn Wentworth, as she ran into the little parlor where Mabel Dacre sat with her workbasket beside her, busily employed as usual. Her brilliant eyes sparkled with excitement, and her cheek glowed with a feverish flush as she took Mabel’s small hands in her own, and exclaimed—“Do come, Mabel, darling, I have so much to tell you, and I want you to help me to gather some flowers to deck our little cottage, for William is to be here to-night—just think, dear sister, this very evening—oh, I can hardly believe it. Six whole months since I have seen him, and now, Mabel, he writes so lovingly, and says he will never leave me any more; oh, I am so happy.” “But, sister mine,” said the silvery voice of Mabel, as she lifted her large, serene eyes to the excited face of Evelyn, whom she loved with all a sister’s fondness; “my darling, why have you run so fast and exhausted yourself now, when you wish and need most to be bright and well; will you never learn prudence, thoughtless Evelyn. I shall not let you stir now until you are quite, quite rested; for, see here are flowers enough to make a perfect bower of your little room.” Mabel was right in chiding the imprudent girl, for in a few moments the glow had faded from her cheek, and was succeeded by a deadly paleness; Mabel ran for water, and just arrived in time to catch her sinking form as she fell faint and breathless upon a couch. “I am a poor, weak child,” she said, softly; “but I shall soon be better, Mabel, darling.” A sweet, grateful smile played over her delicate features as Mabel tenderly kissed her and smoothed back the soft auburn ringlets. A few hours passed, and they were all seated in the little flower-decked parlor awaiting William’s return, save Mabel—she had escaped into the garden, and seating herself in the shadiest corner, her thoughts flew back to the time when she, too, was happy in the blessedness of love; unconsciously her lips moved and breathed in low, impassioned accents the name that was ever in her heart. “I am here, dear Evelyn,” said a voice close beside her, whose tones made her heart leap and her pulses thrill; she turned quickly—and Walter Lee stood before her.