"Truly--why should they?" replied Elizabeth, drawing her horse slowly back, beginning to be conscious that this conversation with a total stranger was a little out of the ordinary course of her strict, social life. "So, now that there are no more shadows to distract me, I will ride back and keep near my father." "One moment," said the young man, drawing close to her horse, "tell me--who is your father, and, and--" "Oh, here he is to speak for himself," cried Elizabeth, drawing a deep breath, for the young man's approach and earnest manner had startled her. The stranger dropped his hand from the neck of her horse, where it had slightly rested, took up his gun, and with a sharp glance at the minister, took a footpath which led into the woods. "What is this, Elizabeth? My dear child, what does it mean?" cried the minister, riding up with an anxious face; "a stranger with his hand on your bridle." "No, no, father: only on my horse's neck. He was asking about you--nothing else--but did you see his face?" "Yes, child, it was a dark, beautiful face. Like those we find in that book of poems by John Milton, where Lucifer shames all the angels with the majesty of his presence. Be careful, daughter, how you look on such faces, save with averted eyes, for they are dangerous to the soul." "Oh, but, father, his smile--I wish you could have seen that--it was like--yes, father, as I live, it was like cousin Abby's. I declare this was why it brought the heart into my mouth--oh, father! if you had only seen him smile, you would never talk of Lucifer and the angels again. Who can he be?" "Some loitering Indian, no doubt." "No, father, no. His hair curls; his eyes are full of fire, not grave and sullen; he smiles often, and his forehead is white as--yes, as my cousin's--he is only dressed a little Indian fashion; but I like that best of all." "And you heard him speak--that might have guided you a little. Was his language prompt and clear?" "Not quite: it had a strange accent." "Indian?" "No, no; but something that made his broken speech sweet as music." "Strange, very strange!" muttered the minister, with a heaviness at the heart which he could not account for. "It is but a man passing like a shadow across my path, and yet I am saddened by it."