"He failed us last year, and did we not need him then? But so men are, and especially you young men. You make a hunting match, or get up a race, or, at a wedding, dance the soles off your feet, and do everything as it pleases you, and the rest you let go as it pleases God. We saw it last year. How I talked, and preached, urging you to watchfulness, after I saw that General Abercrombie in Albany did not bestir himself, and naturally your hands were lying in your laps. I preached to deaf ears. Afterward when the abominable French broke in and sunk, and burned, and murdered after their wicked heart's desire--yes, now every one protected his own head as best he could. But how many houses might still stand, how many wives and children could to-day yet look at the lovely sun and praise their heavenly Father, if you from the first had stood together as it became intelligent men? And now, Lambert, there stands my horse and I do not know what more to say to you; so help yourself out of the mire and me on my horse; and, as to what concerns the lady, I will come again to-morrow, or you can bring her to me. I will not bite her. Have no care. Today I won't stay longer. God protect you, Lambert. Give my compliments to the lady. What is her name?" "Catherine Weise," said Lambert. "She is an orphan. Her father, who was a preacher, and, out of love for his people, emigrated with them, she lost eight days before the ship reached New York." "Catherine," said Ursul. "Our dear Father in heaven! So I always wanted to call my daughter, should I have one. Both my sainted grandmothers had that name. Nay, things happen alike. Compliments to the girl, who seems to be a well-behaved person, and God protect you, Lambert." The Amazon arranged her clothes, which was somewhat difficult, as she sat like a man in the saddle, chirruped to her horse, gave him a hard cut over the neck, and trotted briskly away from the edge of the woods where they had stood, down the hill, over the meadow, until she reached the road which led from the creek to the other farm-houses. The young man looked at the retreating figure with sad glances and a deep sigh. He heard behind him a light step. He turned eagerly and opened his arms to the beloved one. But Catherine shook her handsome head. Her large, inquiring dark eyes, in which there were still some traces of tears, rested on his face. "For God's sake!" exclaimed Lambert, "why do you look in such a strange way, Catherine? What have we to do with others? I love you." "And I you," said Catherine, "but it must happen." "What must happen? Catherine, dear Catherine," cried Lambert. "Come," said the maiden, "let us sit down here and talk with each other quietly, very quietly." She sat down on the trunk of a half-buried pine and looked thoughtfully before her. Lambert seated himself at her side. He wished to speak, but before he could find the right word, Catherine raised her eyes and said: