“Only to arouse its powers,” she answered, carrying out the simile. While speaking, she anxiously sought his eyes, which at last met hers in a loving gaze, and then she continued,—“You have consecrated your mission as only such a mission can be consecrated, by a great sacrifice at its commencement—_can you pause_ now?” “Rosalie! Rosalie! why had I not known you better before? Why could I not have loved you only from the first? Why have the last two or three years of my life been lonely and wasted?” “I had to grow up for you. I had to be left to mature in solitude and silence. I was a child three years ago.” “And you are a child still, young priestess of liberty! A child still in all things but the inspired wisdom of your heart!” We have no time nor space to follow the course of this young pair, step by step, or to relate the many conversations they held together, in which hand upheld hand, heart strengthened heart, spirit inspired spirit, until the two grew into one—with one heart, soul, and spirit—one interest, purpose, and object. The boat wended on her way, reached the mouth of the Ohio river, and turned up the Mississippi; and in five days more landed at the new village of S——, in the Northwest Territory. It was very early in the morning; the sun had not yet risen, and the fog still lay, white and heavy, upon the wilderness shores—for here the wilderness, exuberant and luxuriant in vegetation, lay all around—and the new village of S—— was at the very outskirts of pioneer civilization. It was situated on the right or east bank of the Upper Mississippi, and the dwellings were scattered up and down the high bluff so oddly, that a passenger, looking upon the hamlet, said it seemed as if a giant had gathered a handful of houses and flung them at the bluff, and that they had settled at random where they had fallen. Our young couple were the only passengers for S——, and they followed their baggage into the skiff, and were landed just as the sun arose, gilding the windows of the village, and lighting up into splendour all the glorious scene. “See, Mark! It is a happy omen,” said Rosalie smiling. He pressed her hand, and turned upon her a look of unspeakable love, as he handed her to the shore. There was a porter even in that rude, remote place. He took charge of the baggage, and led the way to the hotel on the top of the bluff. It was a large, unfinished, two-story frame house, rudely built of rough pine boards, unpainted without, and unplastered within. Our young couple followed their guide, the porter, who was also the landlord, into the large bare parlour, which was also the kitchen of the inn. This room was scantily furnished, with a few rough chairs, a table neatly enough set out for breakfast, and a glowing cooking-stove, in full blast, at which stood the cook, who was also the landlady, getting breakfast.