Wolf’s Grove was not what its name indicated—an isolated piece of wood, similar to those that at wide intervals dotted the prairie; it was rather a portion of that vast, unbroken, interminable forest, projecting here into the open prairie like a point of land into the sea, but stretching back and back hundreds of miles, and even to the banks of Lake Superior. Here the old primeval forest trees were of gigantic, almost fabulous size, but thinly scattered, and standing singly apart, like the outposts of a vast army. Half a mile within the Grove, where the trees were thicker, stood the cabin originally built for a school and meeting-house, by the first settlers. There was not a wood-shed, a fence, a fruit tree, nor a foot of cultivated ground, around it; nor a house, nor a field, within three miles of it. Mark Sutherland and Rosalie alighted, and entered the house, while the driver secured his horses and gave them water. The cabin was unusually large and well built, being nearly thirty feet square, and constructed of huge logs, well hewn, and well cemented. The cabin fronted south, where one door admitted into the only room; opposite this door, in the north wall, stood the large, open fire-place. The room was lighted by two windows, fronting each other, east and west. The floor was well laid, and a step-ladder in the corner, between the fire-place and the east window, led up to a loft. The house was in good repair, with the single exception of the broken windows. “A very different abode from that you have left, for my sake, dear Rosalie; and yet, if you only knew, as I do, how much better this is than any other log cabin to be found anywhere! Why, Rose, it is a palace, compared to some.” “I know it is; and I only wonder that it has been left so long untenanted, while the meanest hovels have been all taken up.” “Why, you see, my dear, this house is too remote from the village for any one but a farmer, and as it stands upon the reserved school lands, of course, no farmer can cultivate the ground.” “Will it not be too far for _you_?” “With me it is different. I like to walk, and do not grudge my steps. The three miles’ walk, morning and evening, will do me good. Nay, more; that exercise will be a necessary relief from the sedentary life of the office. My only anxiety will be in leaving you here alone, all day. Will you be very lonesome, dear?” “Lonesome? I don’t know. I should be lonesome _anywhere_ without _you_, Mark. But that is a very foolish weakness, and must be overcome, of course.” “But you will be afraid to stay here all day long alone?” “Afraid? Of what? Why should I be? Is there any cause of fear?” “No, dear; no cause for fear; but, as Emilia said of jealousy, one might say of fear: ‘That fearful souls will not be _answered_ so; They are not ever fearful for a _cause_, But fearful for they are fearful’”——