“It is reality--I know it,” said the excited Harry; “you have a father living somewhere in the world, and there is a future opening before you.” “But how is he to be found?” asked Little Rifle. “He may be thousands of miles away; or, it may be that he came back years ago, and finding nothing of me has given me up as dead.” “That may all be, and it may not. But, do you wish to live the life of a savage in the woods? Don’t you ever want to go among civilized beings and become one of them?” “I have often dreamed and often wished,” she answered, lowering her eyes, and looking at the snow-flakes, which were drifting against her moccasins. “And your dream shall become a reality. Go with me to the fort and wait till father comes, and you shall go back with us; you shall be educated, and then what woman shall equal you?” “And supposing my father is never found--how shall I ever repay your father and you?” The fine dark eyes of Harry Northend glowed with a radiant light, as he leaned forward, and placing his arm around the neck of Little Rifle, imprinted a warm kiss upon her cheek, and said, in low, ardent tones: “By becoming my wife, and thus I shall be repaid a thousand times over. I understand now how it was that, when I looked up in your face, as I began to recover my senses, after you had dragged me from the water below the falls, a feeling shot through me like the shock of electricity. It puzzled me to understand what it meant; I thought yours was the handsomest face I ever looked upon, and it often seemed to me that there was a feminine delicacy and refinement about you, in spite of the uncivilized life you were leading. I found, too, that your manner and conversation proved that you had received a partial education. But above all, your heroic character, as you showed it when you leaped into the water, drew me toward you as the pole draws the magnet. “I was puzzled and not a little hurt,” continued the impassioned Harry, as he still kept one arm around the neck of Little Rifle, and held her hand imprisoned in his own, “at your shyness, especially after Old Ruff appeared upon the scene. It seemed to me that I was distrusted by both of you, but now I can understand that it was only your instinctive maidenly modesty, and I honor you for it.” The cheeks of the beautiful girl (as Little Rifle must henceforth be regarded) grew rosier and redder, and now flushed to scarlet, as she never once raised her eyes from the ground, and Harry poured out his burning, impassioned words.