It is to be all made of faith and service;
It is to be all made of phantasy;
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration1, duty, and observance;
All humbleness3, all patience, and impatience4;
All purity, all trial, all observance.
SHAKESPEARE.
It was near noon when the gale5 broke; and then its force abated6 as suddenly as its violence had arisen. In less than two hours after the wind fell, the surface of the lake, though still agitated7, was no longer glittering with foam8; and in double that time, the entire sheet presented the ordinary scene of disturbed water, that was unbroken by the violence of a tempest. Still the waves came rolling incessantly9 towards the shore, and the lines of breakers remained, though the spray had ceased to fly; the combing of the swells10 was more moderate, and all that there was of violence proceeded from the impulsion of wind which had abated.
As it was impossible to make head against the sea that was still up, with the light opposing air that blew from the eastward11, all thoughts of getting under way that afternoon were abandoned. Jasper, who had now quietly resumed the command of the Scud12, busied himself, however, in heaving-up the anchors, which were lifted in succession; the kedges that backed them were weighed, and everything was got in readiness for a prompt departure, as soon as the state of the weather would allow. In the meantime, they who had no concern with these duties sought such means of amusement as their peculiar13 circumstances allowed.
As is common with those who are unused to the confinement15 of a vessel16, Mabel cast wistful eyes towards the shore; nor was it long before she expressed a wish that it were possible to land. The Pathfinder was near her at the time, and he assured her that nothing would be easier, as they had a bark canoe on deck, which was the best possible mode of conveyance17 to go through a surf. After the usual doubts and misgivings18, the Sergeant19 was appealed to; his opinion proved to be favorable, and preparations to carry the whim20 into effect were immediately made.
The party which was to land consisted of Sergeant Dunham, his daughter, and the Pathfinder. Accustomed to the canoe, Mabel took her seat in the centre with great steadiness, her father was placed in the bows, while the guide assumed the office of conductor, by steering21 in the stern. There was little need of impelling22 the canoe by means of the paddle, for the rollers sent it forward at moments with a violence that set every effort to govern its movements at defiance23. More than once, before the shore was reached, Mabel repented24 of her temerity25, but Pathfinder encouraged her, and really manifested so much self-possession, coolness, and strength of arm himself, that even a female might have hesitated about owning all her apprehensions26. Our heroine was no coward; and while she felt the novelty of her situation, in landing through a surf, she also experienced a fair proportion of its wild delight. At moments, indeed, her heart was in her mouth, as the bubble of a boat floated on the very crest27 of a foaming28 breaker, appearing to skim the water like a swallow, and then she flushed and laughed, as, left by the glancing element, they appeared to linger behind as if ashamed of having been outdone in the headlong race. A few minutes sufficed for this excitement; for though the distance between the cutter and the land considerably29 exceeded a quarter of a mile, the intermediate space was passed in a very few minutes.
On landing, the Sergeant kissed his daughter kindly30, for he was so much of a soldier as always to feel more at home on terra firma than when afloat; and, taking his gun, he announced his intention to pass an hour in quest of game.
“Pathfinder will remain near you, girl, and no doubt he will tell you some of the traditions of this part of the world, or some of his own experiences with the Mingos.”
The guide laughed, promised to have a care of Mabel, and in a few minutes the father had ascended31 a steep acclivity and disappeared in the forest. The others took another direction, which, after a few minutes of a sharp ascent32 also, brought them to a small naked point on the promontory33, where the eye overlooked an extensive and very peculiar panorama34. Here Mabel seated herself on a fragment of fallen rock to recover her breath and strength, while her companion, on whose sinews no personal exertion35 seemed to make any impression, stood at her side, leaning in his own and not ungraceful manner on his long rifle. Several minutes passed, and neither spoke36; Mabel, in particular, being lost in admiration37 of the view.
The position the two had obtained was sufficiently38 elevated to command a wide reach of the lake, which stretched away towards the north-east in a boundless39 sheet, glittering beneath the rays of an afternoon’s sun, and yet betraying the remains40 of that agitation41 which it had endured while tossed by the late tempest. The land set bounds to its limits in a huge crescent, disappearing in distance towards the south-east and the north. Far as the eye could reach, nothing but forest was visible, not even a solitary42 sign of civilization breaking in upon the uniform and grand magnificence of nature. The gale had driven the Scud beyond the line of those forts with which the French were then endeavoring to gird the English North American possessions; for, following the channels of communication between the great lakes, their posts were on the banks of the Niagara, while our adventurers had reached a point many leagues westward43 of that celebrated44 strait. The cutter rode at single anchor, without the breakers, resembling some well-imagined and accurately45-executed toy, intended rather for a glass case than for struggles with the elements which she had so lately gone through, while the canoe lay on the narrow beach, just out of reach of the waves that came booming upon the land, a speck46 upon the shingles47.
“We are very far here from human habitations!” exclaimed Mabel, when, after a long survey of the scene, its principal peculiarities48 forced themselves on her active and ever brilliant imagination; “this is indeed being on a frontier.”
“Have they more sightly scenes than this nearer the sea and around their large towns?” demanded Pathfinder, with an interest he was apt to discover in such a subject.
“I will not say that: there is more to remind one of his fellow-beings there than here; less, perhaps, to remind one of God.”
“Ay, Mabel, that is what my own feelings say. I am but a poor hunter, I know, untaught and unlarned; but God is as near me, in this my home, as he is near the king in his royal palace.”
“Who can doubt it?” returned Mabel, looking from the view up into the hard-featured but honest face of her companion, though not without surprise at the energy of his manner. “One feels nearer to God in such a spot, I think, than when the mind is distracted by the objects of the towns.”
“You say all I wish to say myself, Mabel, but in so much plainer speech, that you make me ashamed of wishing to let others know what I feel on such matters. I have coasted this lake in search of skins afore the war, and have been here already; not at this very spot, for we landed yonder, where you may see the blasted oak that stands above the cluster of hemlocks49 —”
“How, Pathfinder, can you remember all these trifles so accurately?”
“These are our streets and houses, our churches and palaces. Remember them, indeed! I once made an appointment with the Big Sarpent, to meet at twelve o’clock at noon, near the foot of a certain pine, at the end of six months, when neither of us was within three hundred miles of the spot. The tree stood, and stands still, unless the judgment50 of Providence51 has lighted on that too, in the midst of the forest, fifty miles from any settlement, but in a most extraordinary neighborhood for beaver52.”
“And did you meet at that very spot and hour?”
“Does the sun rise and set? When I reached the tree, I found the Sarpent leaning against its trunk with torn leggings and muddied moecassins. The Delaware had got into a swamp, and it worried him not a little to find his way out of it; but as the sun which comes over the eastern hills in the morning goes down behind the western at night, so was he true to time and place. No fear of Chingachgook when there is either a friend or an enemy in the case. He is equally sartain with each.”
“And where is the Delaware now? why is he not with us to-day?”
“He is scouting54 on the Mingo trail, where I ought to have been too, but for a great human infirmity.”
“You seem above, beyond, superior to all infirmity, Pathfinder; I never yet met with a man who appeared to be so little liable to the weaknesses of nature.”
“If you mean in the way of health and strength, Mabel, Providence has been kind to me; though I fancy the open air, long hunts, active scoutings, forest fare, and the sleep of a good conscience, may always keep the doctors at a distance. But I am human after all; yes, I find I’m very human in some of my feelings.”
Mabel looked surprised, and it would be no more than delineating the character of her sex, if we added that her sweet countenance55 expressed a good deal of curiosity, too, though her tongue was more discreet56.
“There is something bewitching in this wild life of yours, Pathfinder,” she exclaimed, a tinge57 of enthusiasm mantling58 her cheeks. “I find I’m fast getting to be a frontier girl, and am coming to love all this grand silence of the woods. The towns seem tame to me; and, as my father will probably pass the remainder of his days here, where he has already lived so long, I begin to feel that I should be happy to continue with him, and not to return to the seashore.”
“The woods are never silent, Mabel, to such as understand their meaning. Days at a time have I travelled them alone, without feeling the want of company; and, as for conversation, for such as can comprehend their language, there is no want of rational and instructive discourse59.”
“I believe you are happier when alone, Pathfinder, than when mingling60 with your fellow-creatures.”
“I will not say that, I will not say exactly that. I have seen the time when I have thought that God was sufficient for me in the forest, and that I have craved61 no more than His bounty62 and His care. But other feelings have got uppermost, and I suppose natur’ will have its way. All other creatur’s mate, Mabel, and it was intended man should do so too.”
“And have you never bethought you of seeking a wife, Pathfinder, to share your fortunes?” inquired the girl, with the directness and simplicity63 that the pure of heart and the undesigning are the most apt to manifest, and with that feeling of affection which is inbred in her sex. “To me it seems you only want a home to return to from your wanderings to render your life completely happy. Were I a man, it would be my delight to roam through these forests at will, or to sail over this beautiful lake.”
“I understand you, Mabel; and God bless you for thinking of the welfare of men as humble2 as we are. We have our pleasures, it is true, as well as our gifts, but we might be happier; yes, I do think we might be happier.”
“Happier! in what way, Pathfinder? In this pure air, with these cool and shaded forests to wander through, this lovely lake to gaze at and sail upon, with clear consciences, and abundance for all their real wants, men ought to be nothing less than as perfectly64 happy as their infirmities will allow.”
“Every creatur’ has its gifts, Mabel, and men have theirs,” answered the guide, looking stealthily at his beautiful companion, whose cheeks had flushed and eyes brightened under the ardor65 of feelings excited by the novelty of her striking situation; “and all must obey them. Do you see yonder pigeon that is just alightin’ on the beach — here in a line with the fallen chestnut66?”
“Certainly; it is the only thing stirring with life in it, besides ourselves, that is to be seen in this vast solitude67.”
“Not so, Mabel, not so; Providence makes nothing that lives to live quite alone. Here is its mate, just rising on the wing; it has been feeding near the other beach, but it will not long be separated from its companion.”
“I understand you, Pathfinder,” returned Mabel, smiling sweetly, though as calmly as if the discourse was with her father. “But a hunter may find a mate, even in this wild region. The Indian girls are affectionate and true, I know; for such was the wife of Arrowhead, to a husband who oftener frowned than smiled.”
“That would never do, Mabel, and good would never come of it. Kind must cling to kind, and country to country, if one would find happiness. If, indeed, I could meet with one like you, who would consent to be a hunter’s wife, and who would not scorn my ignorance and rudeness, then, indeed, would all the toil68 of the past appear like the sporting of the young deer, and all the future like sunshine.”
“One like me! A girl of my years and indiscretion would hardly make a fit companion for the boldest scout53 and surest hunter on the lines.”
“Ah, Mabel! I fear me that I have been improving a red-skin’s gifts with a pale-face’s natur’? Such a character would insure a wife in an Indian village.”
“Surely, surely, Pathfinder, you would not think of choosing one so ignorant, so frivolous70, so vain, and so inexperienced as I for your wife?” Mabel would have added, “and as young;” but an instinctive71 feeling of delicacy72 repressed the words.
“And why not, Mabel? If you are ignorant of frontier usages, you know more than all of us of pleasant anecdotes73 and town customs: as for frivolous, I know not what it means; but if it signifies beauty, ah’s me! I fear it is no fault in my eyes. Vain you are not, as is seen by the kind manner in which you listen to all my idle tales about scoutings and trails; and as for experience, that will come with years. Besides, Mabel, I fear men think little of these matters when they are about to take wives: I do.”
“Pathfinder, your words — your looks:— surely all this is meant in trifling74; you speak in pleasantry?”
“To me it is always agreeable to be near you, Mabel; and I should sleep sounder this blessed night than I have done for a week past, could I think that you find such discourse as pleasant as I do.”
We shall not say that Mabel Dunham had not believed herself a favorite with the guide. This her quick feminine sagacity had early discovered; and perhaps she had occasionally thought there had mingled75 with his regard and friendship some of that manly76 tenderness which the ruder sex must be coarse, indeed, not to show on occasions to the gentler; but the idea that he seriously sought her for his wife had never before crossed the mind of the spirited and ingenuous77 girl. Now, however, a gleam of something like the truth broke in upon her imagination, less induced by the words of her companion, perhaps, than by his manner. Looking earnestly into the rugged78, honest countenance of the scout, Mabel’s own features became concerned and grave; and when she spoke again, it was with a gentleness of manner that attracted him to her even more powerfully than the words themselves were calculated to repel79.
“You and I should understand each other, Pathfinder,” said she with an earnest sincerity80; “nor should there be any cloud between us. You are too upright and frank to meet with anything but sincerity and frankness in return. Surely, surely, all this means nothing — has no other connection with your feelings than such a friendship as one of your wisdom and character would naturally feel for a girl like me?”
“I believe it’s all nat’ral, Mabel, yes; I do: the Sergeant tells me he had such feelings towards your own mother, and I think I’ve seen something like it in the young people I have from time to time guided through the wilderness81. Yes, yes, I daresay it’s all nat’ral enough, and that makes it come so easy, and is a great comfort to me.”
“Pathfinder, your words make me uneasy. Speak plainer, or change the subject for ever. You do not, cannot mean that — you cannot wish me to understand”— even the tongue of the spirited Mabel faltered82, and she shrank, with maiden83 shame, from adding what she wished so earnestly to say. Rallying her courage, however, and determined84 to know all as soon and as plainly as possible, after a moment’s hesitation85, she continued — “I mean, Pathfinder, that you do not wish me to understand that you seriously think of me as a wife?”
“I do, Mabel; that’s it, that’s just it; and you have put the matter in a much better point of view than I with my forest gifts and frontier ways would ever be able to do. The Sergeant and I have concluded on the matter, if it is agreeable to you, as he thinks is likely to be the case; though I doubt my own power to please one who deserves the best husband America can produce.”
Mabel’s countenance changed from uneasiness to surprise; and then, by a transition still quicker, from surprise to pain.
“My father!” she exclaimed — “my dear father has thought of my becoming your wife, Pathfinder?”
“Yes, he has, Mabel, he has, indeed. He has even thought such a thing might be agreeable to you, and has almost encouraged me to fancy it might be true.”
“But you yourself — you certainly can care nothing whether this singular expectation shall ever be realized or not?”
“Anan?”
“I mean, Pathfinder, that you have talked of this match more to oblige my father than anything else; that your feelings are no way concerned, let my answer be what it may?”
The scout looked earnestly into the beautiful face of Mabel, which had flushed with the ardor and novelty of her sensations, and it was not possible to mistake the intense admiration that betrayed itself in every lineament of his ingenuous countenance.
“I have often thought myself happy, Mabel, when ranging the woods on a successful hunt, breathing the pure air of the hills, and filled with vigor86 and health; but I now know that it has all been idleness and vanity compared with the delight it would give me to know that you thought better of me than you think of most others.”
“Better of you! — I do, indeed, think better of you, Pathfinder, than of most others: I am not certain that I do not think better of you than of any other; for your truth, honesty, simplicity, justice, and courage are scarcely equalled by any of earth.”
“Ah, Mabel, these are sweet and encouraging words from you! and the Sergeant, after all, was not so near wrong as I feared.”
“Nay87, Pathfinder, in the name of all that is sacred and just, do not let us misunderstand each other in a matter of so much importance. While I esteem88, respect, nay, reverence89 you, almost as much as I reverence my own dear father, it is impossible that I should ever become your wife — that I—”
The change in her companion’s countenance was so sudden and so great, that the moment the effect of what she had uttered became visible in the face of the Pathfinder, Mabel arrested her own words, notwithstanding her strong desire to be explicit90, the reluctance91 with which she could at any time cause pain being sufficient of itself to induce the pause. Neither spoke for some time, the shade of disappointment that crossed the rugged lineaments of the hunter amounting so nearly to anguish92 as to frighten his companion, while the sensation of choking became so strong in the Pathfinder that he fairly griped his throat, like one who sought physical relief for physical suffering. The convulsive manner in which his fingers worked actually struck the alarmed girl with a feeling of awe93.
“Nay, Pathfinder,” Mabel eagerly added, the instant she could command her voice — “I may have said more than I mean; for all things of this nature are possible, and women, they say, are never sure of their own minds. What I wish you to understand is, that it is not likely that you and I should ever think of each other as man and wife ought to think of each other.”
“I do not — I shall never think in that way again, Mabel,” gasped94 forth95 the Pathfinder, who appeared to utter his words like one just raised above the pressure of some suffocating96 substance. “No, no, I shall never think of you, or any one else, again in that way.”
“Pathfinder, dear Pathfinder, understand me; do not attach more meaning to my words than I do myself: a match like that would be unwise, unnatural97, perhaps.”
“Yes, unnat’ral — ag’in natur’; and so I told the Sergeant, but he would have it otherwise.”
“Pathfinder! oh, this is worse than I could have imagined! Take my hand, excellent Pathfinder, and let me see that you do not hate me. For God’s sake, smile upon me again.”
“Hate you, Mabel! Smile upon you! Ah’s me!”
“Nay, give me your hand; your hardy98, true, and manly hand — both, both, Pathfinder! for I shall not be easy until I feel certain that we are friends again, and that all this has been a mistake.”
“Mabel!” said the guide, looking wistfully into the face of the generous and impetuous girl, as she held his two hard and sunburnt hands in her own pretty and delicate fingers, and laughing in his own silent and peculiar manner, while anguish gleamed over lineaments which seemed incapable99 of deception100, even while agitated with emotions so conflicting — “Mabel! the Sergeant was wrong.”
The pent-up feelings could endure no more, and the tears rolled down the cheeks of the scout like rain. His fingers again worked convulsively at his throat; and his breast heaved, as if it possessed101 a tenant102 of which it would be rid, by any effort, however desperate.
“Pathfinder! Pathfinder!” Mabel almost shrieked103; “anything but this, anything but this! Speak to me, Pathfinder! Smile again, say one kind word, anything to prove you can forgive me.”
“The Sergeant was wrong!” exclaimed the guide, laughing amid his agony, in a way to terrify his companion by the unnatural mixture of anguish and light-heartedness. “I knew it, I knew it, and said it; yes, the Sergeant was wrong after all.”
“We can be friends, though we cannot be man and wife,” continued Mabel, almost as much disturbed as her companion, scarcely knowing what she said; “we can always be friends, and always will.”
“I thought the Sergeant was mistaken,” resumed the Pathfinder, when a great effort had enabled him to command himself, “for I did not think my gifts were such as would please the fancy of a town-bred girl. It would have been better, Mabel, had he not over-persuaded me into a different notion; and it might have been better, too, had you not been so pleasant and confiding104 like; yes, it would.”
“If I thought any error of mine had raised false expectations in you, Pathfinder, however unintentionally on my part, I should never forgive myself; for, believe me, I would rather endure pain in my own feelings than you should suffer.”
“That’s just it, Mabel, that’s just it. These speeches and opinions, spoken in so soft a voice, and in a way I’m so unused to in the woods, have done the mischief105. But I now see plainly, and begin to understand the difference between us better, and will strive to keep down thought, and to go abroad again as I used to do, looking for the game and the inimy. Ah’s me, Mabel! I have indeed been on a false trail since we met.”
“In a little while you will forget all this, and think of me as a friend, who owes you her life.”
“This may be the way in the towns, but I doubt if it’s nat’ral to the woods. With us, when the eye sees a lovely sight, it is apt to keep it long in view, or when the mind takes in an upright and proper feeling, it is loath106 to part with it.”
“You will forget it all, when you come seriously to recollect107 that I am altogether unsuited to be your wife.”
“So I told the Sergeant; but he would have it otherwise. I knew you was too young and beautiful for one of middle age, like myself, and who never was comely108 to look at even in youth; and then your ways have not been my ways; nor would a hunter’s cabin be a fitting place for one who was edicated among chiefs, as it were. If I were younger and comelier109 though, like Jasper Eau-douce —”
“Never mind Jasper Eau-douce,” interrupted Mabel impatiently; “we can talk of something else.”
“Jasper is a worthy110 lad, Mabel; ay, and a comely,” returned the guileless guide, looking earnestly at the girl, as if he distrusted her judgment in speaking slightingly of his friend. “Were I only half as comely as Jasper Western, my misgivings in this affair would not have been so great, and they might not have been so true.”
“We will not talk of Jasper Western,” repeated Mabel, the color mounting to her temples; “he may be good enough in a gale, or on the lake, but he is not good enough to talk of here.”
“I fear me, Mabel, he is better than the man who is likely to be your husband, though the Sergeant says that never can take place. But the Sergeant was wrong once, and he may be wrong twice.”
“And who is likely to be my husband, Pathfinder! This is scarcely less strange than what has just passed between us.”
“I know it is nat’ral for like to seek like, and for them that have consorted111 much with officers’ ladies to wish to be officers’ ladies themselves. But, Mabel; I may speak plainly to you, I know; and I hope my words will not give you pain; for, now I understand what it is to be disappointed in such feelings, I wouldn’t wish to cause even a Mingo sorrow on this head. But happiness is not always to be found in a marquee, any more than in a tent; and though the officers’ quarters may look more tempting113 than the rest of the barracks, there is often great misery114 between husband and wife inside of their doors.”
“I do not doubt it in the least, Pathfinder; and, did it rest with me to decide, I would sooner follow you to some cabin in the woods, and share your fortune, whether it might be better or worse, than go inside the door of any officer I know, with an intention of remaining there as its master’s wife.”
“Mabel, this is not what Lundie hopes, or Lundie thinks.”
“And what care I for Lundie? He is major of the 55th, and may command his men to wheel and march about as he pleases; but he cannot compel me to wed14 the greatest or the meanest of his mess. Besides, what can you know of Lundie’s wishes on such a subject?”
“From Lundie’s own mouth. The Sergeant had told him that he wished me for a son-in-law; and the Major, being an old and a true friend, conversed115 with me on the subject. He put it to me plainly, whether it would not be more ginerous in me to let an officer succeed, than to strive to make you share a hunter’s fortune. I owned the truth, I did; and that was, that I thought it might; but when he told me that the Quartermaster would be his choice, I would not abide116 by the conditions. No, no, Mabel; I know Davy Muir well, and though he may make you a lady, he can never make you a happy woman, or himself a gentleman.”
“My father has been very wrong if he has said or done aught to cause you sorrow, Pathfinder; and so great is my respect for you, so sincere my friendship, that were it not for one — I mean that no person need fear Lieutenant117 Muir’s influence with me — I would rather remain as I am to my dying day than become a lady at the cost of being his wife.”
“I do not think you would say that which you do not feel, Mabel,” returned Pathfinder earnestly.
“Not at such a moment, on such a subject, and least of all to you. No; Lieutenant Muir may find wives where he can — my name shall never be on his catalogue.”
“Thank you, thank you for that, Mabel, for, though there is no longer any hope for me, I could never be happy were you to take to the Quartermaster. I feared the commission might count for something, I did; and I know the man. It is not jealousy118 that makes me speak in this manner, but truth, for I know the man. Now, were you to fancy a desarving youth, one like Jasper Western, for instance —”
“Why always mention Jasper Eau-douce, Pathfinder? he can have no concern with our friendship; let us talk of yourself, and of the manner in which you intend to pass the winter.”
“Ah’s me! — I’m little worth at the best, Mabel, unless it may be on a trail or with the rifle; and less worth now that I have discovered the Sergeant’s mistake. There is no need, therefore, of talking of me. It has been very pleasant to me to be near you so long, and even to fancy that the Sergeant was right; but that is all over now. I shall go down the lake with Jasper, and then there will be business to occupy us, and that will keep useless thoughts out of the mind.”
“And you will forget this — forget me — no, not forget me, either, Pathfinder; but you will resume your old pursuits, and cease to think a girl of sufficient importance to disturb your peace?”
“I never knowed it afore, Mabel; but girls are of more account in this life than I could have believed. Now, afore I knowed you, the new-born babe did not sleep more sweetly than I used; my head was no sooner on the root, or the stone, or mayhap on the skin, than all was lost to the senses, unless it might be to go over in the night the business of the day in a dream like; and there I lay till the moment came to be stirring, and the swallows were not more certain to be on the wing with the light, than I to be afoot at the moment I wished to be. All this seemed a gift, and might be calculated on even in the midst of a Mingo camp; for I’ve been outlying in my time, in the very villages of the vagabonds.”
“And all this will return to you, Pathfinder, for one so upright and sincere will never waste his happiness on a mere119 fancy. You will dream again of your hunts, of the deer you have slain120, and of the beaver you have taken.”
“Ah’s me, Mabel, I wish never to dream again! Before we met, I had a sort of pleasure in following up the hounds, in fancy, as it might be; and even in striking a trail of the Iroquois — nay, I’ve been in skrimmages and ambushments, in thought like, and found satisfaction in it, according to my gifts; but all those things have lost their charms since I’ve made acquaintance with you. Now, I think no longer of anything rude in my dreams; but the very last night we stayed in the garrison122 I imagined I had a cabin in a grove123 of sugar maples124, and at the root of every tree was a Mabel Dunham, while the birds among the branches sang ballads125 instead of the notes that natur’ gave, and even the deer stopped to listen. I tried to shoot a fa’n, but Killdeer missed fire, and the creatur’ laughed in my face, as pleasantly as a young girl laughs in her merriment, and then it bounded away, looking back as if expecting me to follow.”
“No more of this, Pathfinder; we’ll talk no more of these things,” said Mabel, dashing the tears from her eyes: for the simple, earnest manner in which this hardy woodsman betrayed the deep hold she had taken of his feelings nearly proved too much for her own generous heart. “Now, let us look for my father; he cannot be distant, as I heard his gun quite near.”
“The Sergeant was wrong — yes, he was wrong, and it’s of no avail to attempt to make the dove consort112 with the wolf.”
“Here comes my dear father,” interrupted Mabel. “Let us look cheerful and happy, Pathfinder, as such good friends ought to look, and keep each other’s secrets.”
A pause succeeded; the Sergeant’s foot was heard crushing the dried twigs126 hard by, and then his form appeared shoving aside the bushes of a copse just near. As he issued into the open ground, the old soldier scrutinized127 his daughter and her companion, and speaking good-naturedly, he said, “Mabel, child, you are young and light of foot — look for a bird that I’ve shot that fell just beyond the thicket128 of young hemlocks on the shore; and, as Jasper is showing signs of an intention of getting under way, you need not take the trouble to clamber up this hill again, but we will meet you on the beach in a few minutes.”
Mabel obeyed, bounding down the hill with the elastic129 step of youth and health. But, notwithstanding the lightness of her steps, the heart of the girl was heavy, and no sooner was she hid from observation by the thicket, than she threw herself on the root of a tree and wept as if her heart would break. The Sergeant watched her until she disappeared, with a father’s pride, and then turned to his companion with a smile as kind and as familiar as his habits would allow him to use towards any.
“She has her mother’s lightness and activity, my friend, with somewhat of her father’s force,” said he. “Her mother was not quite so handsome, I think myself; but the Dunhams were always thought comely, whether men or women. Well, Pathfinder, I take it for granted you’ve not overlooked the opportunity, but have spoken plainly to the girl? women like frankness in matters of this sort.”
“I believe Mabel and I understand each other at last, Sergeant,” returned the other, looking another way to avoid the soldier’s face.
“So much the better. Some people fancy that a little doubt and uncertainty130 makes love all the livelier; but I am one of those who think the plainer the tongue speaks the easier the mind will comprehend. Was Mabel surprised?”
“I fear she was, Sergeant; I fear she was taken quite by surprise — yes, I do.”
“Well, well, surprises in love are like an ambush121 in war, and quite as lawful131; though it is not so easy to tell when a woman is surprised, as to tell when it happens to an enemy. Mabel did not run away, my worthy friend, did she?”
“No, Sergeant, Mabel did not try to escape; that I can say with a clear conscience.”
“I hope the girl was too willing, neither! Her mother was shy and coy for a month, at least; but frankness, after all, is a recommendation in a man or woman.”
“That it is, that it is; and judgment, too.”
“You are not to look for too much judgment in a young creature of twenty, Pathfinder, but it will come with experience. A mistake in you or me, for instance, might not be so easily overlooked; but in a girl of Mabel’s years, one is not to strain at a gnat132 lest they swallow a camel.”
The reader will remember that Sergeant Dunham was not a Hebrew scholar.
The muscles of the listener’s face twitched133 as the Sergeant was thus delivering his sentiments, though the former had now recovered a portion of that stoicism which formed so large a part of his character, and which he had probably imbibed134 from long association with the Indians. His eyes rose and fell, and once a gleam shot athwart his hard features as if he were about to indulge in his peculiar laugh; but the joyous135 feeling, if it really existed, was as quickly lost in a look allied136 to anguish. It was this unusual mixture of wild and keen mental agony with native, simple joyousness137, which had most struck Mabel, who, in the interview just related, had a dozen times been on the point of believing that her suitor’s heart was only lightly touched, as images of happiness and humor gleamed over a mind that was almost infantile in its simplicity and nature; an impression, however, which was soon driven away by the discovery of emotions so painful and so deep, that they seemed to harrow the very soul.
“You say true, Sergeant,” Pathfinder answered; “a mistake in one like you is a more serious matter.”
“You will find Mabel sincere and honest in the end; give her but a little time.”
“Ah’s me, Sergeant!”
“A man of your merits would make an impression on a rock, give him time, Pathfinder.”
“Sergeant Dunham, we are old fellow-campaigners — that is, as campaigns are carried on here in the wilderness; and we have done so many kind acts to each other that we can afford to be candid138 — what has caused you to believe that a girl like Mabel could ever fancy one so rude as I am?”
“What? — why, a variety of reasons, and good reasons too, my friend. Those same acts of kindness, perhaps, and the campaigns you mention; moreover, you are my sworn and tried comrade.”
“All this sounds well, so far as you and I are consarned; but they do not touch the case of your pretty daughter. She may think these very campaigns have destroyed the little comeliness139 I may once have had; and I am not quite sartain that being an old friend of her father would lead any young maiden’s mind into a particular affection for a suitor. Like loves like, I tell you, Sergeant; and my gifts are not altogether the gifts of Mabel Dunham.”
“These are some of your old modest qualms140, Pathfinder, and will do you no credit with the girl. Women distrust men who distrust themselves, and take to men who distrust nothing. Modesty141 is a capital thing in a recruit, I grant you; or in a young subaltern who has just joined, for it prevents his railing at the non-commissioned officers before he knows what to rail at; I’m not sure it is out of place in a commissary or a parson, but it’s the devil and all when it gets possession of a real soldier or a lover. Have as little to do with it as possible, if you would win a woman’s heart. As for your doctrine142 that like loves like, it is as wrong as possible in matters of this sort. If like loved like, women would love one another, and men also. No, no, like loves dislike,"— the Sergeant was merely a scholar of the camp — “and you have nothing to fear from Mabel on that score. Look at Lieutenant Muir; the man has had five wives already, they tell me, and there is no more modesty in him than there is in a cat-o’-nine-tails.”
“Lieutenant Muir will never be the husband of Mabel Dunham, let him ruffle143 his feathers as much as he may.”
“That is a sensible remark of yours, Pathfinder; for my mind is made up that you shall be my son-in-law. If I were an officer myself, Mr. Muir might have some chance; but time has placed one door between my child and myself, and I don’t intend there shall be that of a marquee also.”
“Sergeant, we must let Mabel follow her own fancy; she is young and light of heart, and God forbid that any wish of mine should lay the weight of a feather on a mind that is all gaiety now, or take one note of happiness from her laughter!”
“Have you conversed freely with the girl?” the Sergeant demanded quickly, and with some asperity144 of manner.
Pathfinder was too honest to deny a truth plain as that which the answer required, and yet too honorable to betray Mabel, and expose her to the resentment145 of one whom he well knew to be stern in his anger.
“We have laid open our minds,” he said; “and though Mabel’s is one that any man might love to look at, I find little there, Sergeant, to make me think any better of myself.”
“The girl has not dared to refuse you — to refuse her father’s best friend?”
Pathfinder turned his face away to conceal146 the look of anguish that consciousness told him was passing athwart it, but he continued the discourse in his own quiet, manly tones.
“Mabel is too kind to refuse anything, or to utter harsh words to a dog. I have not put the question in a way to be downright refused, Sergeant.”
“And did you expect my daughter to jump into your arms before you asked her? She would not have been her mother’s child had she done any such thing, nor do I think she would have been mine. The Dunhams like plain dealing147 as well as the king’s majesty148; but they are no jumpers. Leave me to manage this matter for you, Pathfinder, and there shall be no unnecessary delay. I’ll speak to Mabel myself this very evening, using your name as principal in the affair.”
“I’d rather not, I’d rather not, Sergeant. Leave the matter to Mabel and me, and I think all will come right in the ind. Young girls are like timorsome birds; they do not over-relish being hurried or spoken harshly to nither. Leave the matter to Mabel and me.”
“On one condition I will, my friend; and that is, that you will promise me, on the honor of a scout, that you will put the matter plainly to Mabel the first suitable opportunity, and no mincing149 of words.”
“I will ask her, Sergeant, on condition that you promise not to meddle150 in the affair — yes, I will promise to ask Mabel whether she will marry me, even though she laugh in my face at my doing so, on that condition.”
Sergeant Dunham gave the desired promise very cheerfully; for he had completely wrought151 himself up into the belief that the man he so much esteemed152 himself must be acceptable to his daughter. He had married a woman much younger than himself, and he saw no unfitness in the respective years of the intended couple. Mabel was educated so much above him, too, that he was not aware of the difference which actually existed between the parent and child in this respect. It followed that Sergeant Dunham was not altogether qualified153 to appreciate his daughter’s tastes, or to form a very probable conjecture154 what would be the direction taken by those feelings which oftener depend on impulses and passion than on reason. Still, the worthy soldier was not so wrong in his estimate of the Pathfinder’s chances as might at first appear. Knowing all the sterling155 qualities of the man, his truth, integrity of purpose, courage, self-devotion, disinterestedness156, it was far from unreasonable157 to suppose that qualities like these would produce a deep impression on any female heart; and the father erred158 principally in fancying that the daughter might know as it might be by intuition what he himself had acquired by years of intercourse159 and adventure.
As Pathfinder and his military friend descended160 the hill to the shore of the lake, the discourse did not flag. The latter continued to persuade the former that his diffidence alone prevented complete success with Mabel, and that he had only to persevere161 in order to prevail. Pathfinder was much too modest by nature, and had been too plainly, though so delicately, discouraged in the recent interview to believe all he heard; still the father used so many arguments which seemed plausible162, and it was so grateful to fancy that the daughter might yet be his, that the reader is not to be surprised when he is told that this unsophisticated being did not view Mabel’s recent conduct in precisely163 the light in which he may be inclined to view it himself. He did not credit all that the Sergeant told him, it is true; but he began to think virgin164 coyness and ignorance of her own feelings might have induced Mabel to use the language she had.
“The Quartermaster is no favorite,” said Pathfinder in answer to one of his companion’s remarks. “Mabel will never look on him as more than one who has had four or five wives already.”
“Which is more than his share. A man may marry twice without offence to good morals and decency165, I allow! but four times is an aggravation166.”
“I should think even marrying once what Master Cap calls a circumstance,” put in Pathfinder, laughing in his quiet way, for by this time his spirits had recovered some of their buoyancy.
“It is, indeed, my friend, and a most solemn circumstance too. If it were not that Mabel is to be your wife, I would advise you to remain single. But here is the girl herself, and discretion69 is the word.”
“Ah’s me, Sergeant, I fear you are mistaken!”
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1
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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2
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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3
humbleness
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| n.谦卑，谦逊；恭顺 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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6
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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8
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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9
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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10
swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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13
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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14
wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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15
confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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16
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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17
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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18
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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19
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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21
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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22
impelling
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| adj.迫使性的，强有力的v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的现在分词 ) | |
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23
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25
temerity
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| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
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26
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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27
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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28
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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29
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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30
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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31
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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33
promontory
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| n.海角；岬 | |
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34
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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35
exertion
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| n.尽力，努力 | |
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36
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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37
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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38
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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39
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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40
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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41
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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42
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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43
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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44
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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45
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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46
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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47
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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48
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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49
hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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50
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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51
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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52
beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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53
scout
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| n.童子军，侦察员；v.侦察，搜索 | |
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54
scouting
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| 守候活动，童子军的活动 | |
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55
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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56
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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57
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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58
mantling
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| 覆巾 | |
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59
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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60
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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61
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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62
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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63
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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64
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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65
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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66
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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67
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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68
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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69
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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70
frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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71
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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72
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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73
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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74
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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75
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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76
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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repel
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| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
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80
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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81
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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82
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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83
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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84
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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85
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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86
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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88
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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89
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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90
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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91
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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93
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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94
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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96
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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97
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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98
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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99
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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100
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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101
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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102
tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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103
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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106
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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107
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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108
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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109
comelier
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| adj.英俊的，好看的( comely的比较级 ) | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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111
consorted
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| v.结伴( consort的过去式和过去分词 )；交往；相称；调和 | |
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112
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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113
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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114
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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115
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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116
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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117
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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118
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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119
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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120
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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121
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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122
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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123
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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124
maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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126
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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127
scrutinized
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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129
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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132
gnat
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| v.对小事斤斤计较，琐事 | |
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133
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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134
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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136
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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137
joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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138
candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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139
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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140
qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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141
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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142
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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143
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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144
asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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145
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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146
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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147
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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148
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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149
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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150
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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151
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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152
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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153
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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154
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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155
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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156
disinterestedness
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157
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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158
erred
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| 犯错误，做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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160
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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161
persevere
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| v.坚持，坚忍，不屈不挠 | |
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162
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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163
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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164
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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165
decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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166
aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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