The ascending sun suggested their return home. Lambert was disinclined to leave the woods in whose shade the complete fullness of his happiness had been revealed. But Catherine said: "No, you must not on my account neglect a single duty that rests on you. Otherwise your friends, who consider it a misfortune that you have taken up a poor girl like me, will be right. So you must yet to-day ride to your neighbors with your compliments. They would take it amiss should you not do it, and they would be right. It is your duty to inform them about your journey, which you undertook for their best interest as well as your own. They will be pleased to see you again, and that everything has turned out so well." "And where shall I leave you, in the meantime?" asked Lambert, as they now walked slowly along the creek toward the house. "Where a woman should be--at home," said Catherine. "I unwillingly leave you there," said Lambert. "I do not believe I could return before evening, however I might hasten. It is six miles to Adam Bellinger's, who lives near the mouth of the creek and who is the last of us six who prepared the petition to the governor. On the way I must stop three times, or rather four times, for I must not ride past my old Uncle Ditmar. It is impossible for me to leave you so long alone, since the French are stirring again, and I do not know how far they have come already." "Here good advice is dear," said Catherine laughing mischievously. "You can't take me along to-day, after you yesterday went far out of your way so that your neighbors should not see what a wonderful rarity you had brought with you on your return from your journey." "Nor shall it be different," said Lambert, but little pained by the gentle raillery, accompanied as it was with a kiss. "Though you do not go the whole distance, you can at least go as far as Ditmar's." Catherine arched her eyebrows: "Are you quite sure that I should be kindly received there?" she asked gently. "Quite sure," said Lambert, earnestly, "the more so as my aunt was unfriendly to you before. As far as I know her she has no stronger wish than to repair the mischief. Believe me, Catherine, a better heart than Aunt Ursul's cannot be found, though the severe fate that has befallen her has made her peculiar and unmannerly." "Tell me about it," said Catherine. "It is a dreadful history," said Lambert, "and I would rather not rehearse it; but you will think otherwise of my aunt when you meet her, and so let it be.