eases, in his distress, and that twill all pass for
nothing, because 'tis uttered in the forest, and into red men's ears,
knows little of his situation, and hopes, and wants. The woods are but
the ears of the Almighty, the air is his breath, and the light of the
sun is little more than a glance of his eye. Farewell, Harry; we may not
meet ag'in, but I would wish you never to treat a furlough, or any other
solemn thing that your Christian God has been called on to witness, as
a duty so light that it may be forgotten according to the wants of the
body, or even accordin' to the cravings of the spirit."

March was now glad again to escape. It was quite impossible that he
could enter into the sentiments that ennobled his companion, and he
broke away from both with an impatience that caused him secretly to
curse the folly that could induce a man to rush, as it were, on his own
destruction. Deerslayer, on the contrary, manifested no such excitement.
Sustained by his principles, inflexible in the purpose of acting up to
them, and superior to any unmanly apprehension, he regarded all before
him as a matter of course, and no more thought of making any unworthy
attempt to avoid it, than a Mussulman thinks of counteracting the
decrees of Providence. He stood calmly on the shore, listening to
the reckless tread with which Hurry betrayed his progress through the
bushes, shook his head in dissatisfaction at the want of caution, and
then stepped quietly into his canoe. Before he dropped the paddle again
into the water, the young man gazed about him at the scene presented by
the star-lit night. This was the spot where he had first laid his eyes
on the beautiful sheet of water on which he floated. If it was then
glorious in the bright light of a summer's noon-tide, it was now sad and
melancholy under the shadows of night. The mountains rose around it like
black barriers to exclude the outer world, and the gleams of pale light
that rested on the broader parts of the basin were no bad symbols of
the faintness of the hopes that were so dimly visible in his own future.
Sighing heavily, he pushed the canoe from the land, and took his way
back with steady diligence towards the Ark and the castle.

Chapter XXIV

"Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame;
Thy private feasting to a public fast;
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name;
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter worm wood taste:
Thy violent vanities can never last."