ke yourself, dearest Maud," exclaimed the young
man, taking the hand of his visiter, and pressing it in both his own,
though he strangely neglected to kiss her cheek, as he certainly would
have done had it been Beulah--"This is kind and like yourself; now I
shall learn something of the state of the family. How is my mother?"

It might have been native coyness, or even coquetry, that unconsciously
to herself influenced Maud's answer. She knew not why--and yet she felt
prompted to let it be understood she had not come of her own impulses.

"Mother is well, and not at all alarmed," she said. "She and Beulah are
busy with little Evert, who crows and kicks his heels about as if
_he_ despised danger as becomes a soldier's son, and has much amused
even _me_; though I am accused of insensibility to his perfections.
Believing you might be solitary, or might wish to communicate with
some of us, my mother desired me to come and inquire into your wants."

"Was such a bidding required, Maud! How long has an order been
necessary to bring _you_ to console _me_?"

"That is a calculation I have never entered into, Bob," answered Maud,
slightly blushing, and openly smiling, and that in a way, too, to take
all the sting out of her words--"as young ladies can have more suitable
occupations, one might think. You will admit I guided you faithfully
and skilfully into the Hut last evening, and such a service should
suffice for the present. But, my mother tells me we have proper causes
of complaint against you, for having so thoughtlessly left the place of
safety into which you were brought, and for going strolling about the
valley, after we had retired, in a very heedless and boyish manner!"

"I went with my father; surely I could not have been in better
company."

"At his suggestion, or at your own, Bob?" asked Maud, shaking her head.

"To own the truth, it was, in some degree, at my own. It seemed so very
unmilitary for two old soldiers to allow themselves to be shut up in
ignorance of what their enemies were at, that I could not resist the
desire to make a little _sortie_. You must feel, dear Maud, that
our motive was _your_ safety--the safety, I mean, of my mother,
and Beulah, and nil of you together--and you ought to be the last to
blame us."

The tint on Maud's cheek deepened as Robert Willoughby laid so heavy an
emphasis on "_your_ safety;" but she could not smile on an act
that risked so much more than was prudent.

"This is