“Have I ever refused to listen to you? do I not love to hear your voice?” said the confiding and happy girl. “Bless you, Mary—my whole heart is yours!” exclaimed our hero, seizing a rapturous kiss from the coral lips of the maiden. Mary resisted not, nor replied; while tears, but not of grief, glistened on her dark lashes. “You will not reject my love, Mary? Why do you weep?” “It is with joy—my heart is so happy that tears gush out in spite of me!” “Will you then be mine?” continued Glenn, winding his arm round her yielding waist. “Forever!” she replied, and, bowing her head slightly, a shower of dark silken tresses obscured her blushing face, and covered our hero’s panting breast. Thus they remained many moments in silence, for their feelings were too blissful for utterance. “Are you always happy, Mary?” said Glenn, at length, taking her little white hand in his. “No!” she replied, with a sigh. “Why?” “When you are away, I sometimes fear the Indians—or a snake—or—or something may harm you,” said she, falteringly. “I thank thee, Mary, for thinking of me when I am away.” “I always think of thee!” said she. “Always, Mary?” “Ay, by day—and thou art ever with me in my dreams.” “And I _will_ be with thee always!” “Do!” said she. “But dost thou not sometimes repine that thy life is thus spent in the wilderness far from the busy world?” “I sometimes wish I could see the beautiful cities I read of—but when I think of the treacheries and miseries of the world, I look at the pure fresh flowers, and list to the sweet birds around me, and then I think there is more happiness to be enjoyed here than anywhere else.” “And such is truly the case,” said Glenn, pondering “But then, Mary, we all have obligations to discharge. We were created for society—to associate with our species, and while mingling with kindred beings, it is our duty to bestow as many benefits on them as may be within the scope of our power.” “You think, then, we should leave our western home?” she asked, with undisguised interest. “Wilt thou not consent to go?” “If you go, I will go!” said she. “And now I declare I will not go unless thou art willing.” “But is it a _duty_?” she asked. “Your fa—Mr. Roughgrove says so.” “Then let us go! But why did you not say _father_?” “He is not your father.” “No!” exclaimed the maid, turning pale. “I will tell thee all, Mary.” And Glenn related the story of the maiden’s birth. “Now, Mary,” he continued, “thou knowest thine own history. Thou art of a noble race, according to the rules of men—nay, thy blood is royal—if thou wouldst retract thy plighted faith (I should have told thee this before,) speak, and thy will shall be done!” “Oh! Charles! I am thine, THINE ONLY, were I born an angel!” she cried, throwing herself into his arms. At this juncture a violent rustling was heard in the bushes not far distant, and the next moment Joe’s voice rang out.