fore the time we write of settled
at Pine Point, on the banks of the Yellowstone River, along with her
brother, the blacksmith above referred to. At that time she was the
sweetest maiden in all the village, and now she was the handsomest
matron. Indeed, the bloom of her youth remained on her cheeks so little
impaired that she was often mistaken by strangers for March Marston's
elder sister. The men of the place called her pretty widow Marston; but
she was not a widow--at least, they had as little ground for saying that
she was as they had for asserting that her son was mad. Mrs Marston
was peculiarly circumstanced, but she was not a widow.

The peculiar circumstances connected with her history are soon told.
Immediately after the arrival of the blacksmith and his pretty sister at
Pine Point settlement, a tall stout young stripling--a trapper--about a
year older than herself, fell deeply in love with Mary West--that being
Mrs Marston's maiden name. The young trapper's case was desperate. He
sank at once so deep into the profundities of love, that no deep-sea
lead, however ingeniously contrived, could reach him.

Although just emerging from boyhood, Louis the trapper was already a
tall, strong, handsome man, and Mary felt flattered by his attentions.
But when, a month afterwards, he boldly offered her his hand and fortune
(which latter consisted of a trapper's costume and a western rifle), she
was taken aback and flatly refused him. Louis was hare-brained and
passionate. He told her he would give her one day and a night to think
of it. At the end of that time he came back and was again refused, for
Mary West had no notion of being taken by storm in that fashion. But
she trembled and grew pale on observing the storm of angry passion that
gleamed from the young trapper's eyes and caused his broad chest to
heave violently. He did not speak. He did not even look at Mary--had
he done so, years of sorrow and suffering might have been spared them
both. He stood for one moment with his eyes fixed upon the ground--then
he turned, sprang through the doorway, vaulted on his horse, and went
off from her cottage door as an arrow leaps from a bow. The fences and
ditches that lay in his way were no impediment. His powerful steed
carried him over all and into the forest beyond, where he was quickly
lost to view. Mary tried to resume her household occupations with a
sigh. She did not believe he was gone. But he was!

A