om it, I
am indeed happy!"

"Then so am I, whatsoever it may be," returned Agatha, softly. "Still,
do tell me."

Her bridegroom, as he pressed her to his bosom, looked as if he had for
the moment forgotten all about his tidings; but afterwards, when her
second entreaty came, he took out a letter and bade her read, holding
her fast the while with a light firm hand on her shoulder. He seemed
almost to fear that at the news he brought she would glide out of his
grasp like snow.

"It is an odd hand--strange to me," said Agatha. "Is it"--and a sudden
thought struck her--"is it"----

"Yes--thank God."

"Oh, then, he is safe--I am so glad--so glad!" cried Agatha, in the
true sympathy of her heart. But her very gladness appeared to
affect contrariwise the troubled mood of her lover. His hand dropped
imperceptibly from her shoulder--he sat down.

"Read the letter, which came late last night. I thought you would be
pleased--that was why I thus disturbed you."

Agatha, who had not yet learned the joy or pain of reading momently the
changes of a beloved face, immediately perused the letter. It was rather
eccentric of its kind:

"Lodge of O-me-not-tua.

"My dear Boy,

"If ever you get into the hands of those red devils, be not alarmed: it
isn't so bad as it seems. If you saw me now, in the big buffalo-cloak of
a medicine man, after smoking dozens of pipes of peace with every one
of the tribe, sitting at the door of my lodge, with miles of high
prairie-grass rolling in waves towards the sunset, you would rather
envy me than otherwise, and cry out, as I have often done, 'Away with
civilisation!'

"I am not scalped--I thought I should not be; the tribe (it wastes
valuable paper to write their long name, but you will have heard it)
the tribe know me too well. I make a capital white medicine-man. I might
have escaped any day, but, pshaw! honour!--So I choose to see a little
of the great western forests, until I know how my two red friends have
been treated on Lake Winnipeg shore. But in no case is any harm likely
to come to me, except those chances of mortality which are common to
all.

"You will receive this (which a worthy psalm-singing missionary conveys
to New York) almost as soon as the news of our adventure reaches Europe.
I send it to relieve you, dear nephew, and all friends, if I have any
left, from further anxiety concerning me, and especially from useless
search, as under no circumstances whatever shall I c