little footpath led down the brow of the hill to a tiny promontory on
which a few hickory trees were now dropping their nuts. She struck
hastily into this path and descended to the river. Close to the bank,
half hidden among the dying fern leaves that drooped over it, lay a
miniature boat scarcely larger than an Indian canoe. It was a highly
ornamented and symmetrical little craft, that any child might have
propelled and which a queen fairy would have been proud to own.

Mabel sprang into the boat, and seating herself on a pile of cushions
heaped in the centre, pushed out into the stream. There was no hardihood
in this, she had been accustomed to action and exercise all her life,
and could propel her little skiff with the skill and grace of any Indian
girl.

Her boat ran out from the promontory and shot like an arrow across the
water, for she trembled lest some voice should call her back, and urged
her light oars with all the impetuosity of her nature.

At last, beyond hail from the shore, she looked back and saw a man
standing upon the brow of the hill, leaning against the oak that had
sheltered her a few moments before. Mabel paused and rested on her oars.
The distance would not permit her to distinguish his features, but the
size and air might have been that of her husband had his usual habits
permitted the idea. She put it aside at once, nothing could have induced
the General to climb the steeps of that hill. It must be James. These
two persons were alike in stature and partook of the same imposing air.
Yes, it must be James Harrington, and was it from him she had fled? Had
he repented of the harsh words that had driven her forth and followed
her with hopes of atonement? Her heart rose kindly at the thought. She
half turned her little boat, tempted back by that longing wish for
reconciliation, which was always uppermost in her warm nature.

But then came the wholesome after-thought which had so often checked
these genial impulses. She turned the boat slowly back upon its course
and let it float with the current, watching the rise of land on which he
stood, with sad, wistful glances, that no one saw, save the God who
knows how pure they were, and how much the resolution to go on had cost
her.

As the boat drifted downward, she saw the person turn as if speaking to
some one, and directly a female form stood by his side. They drew close
together, and seemed to be conversing eagerly. His look was no longer
towards