ver and the great prairies; but it is
a country where they dig gold out of the sand--perhaps you have heard of
it, and might know it. I tried to know its name, but father is angry
with me for speaking of you, and will not tell me; and our friend, that
you saw, who is taking us with him, will not tell me either. But I
shall find out soon, and if I thought you might like to know where we
are gone, I would write to you. I am glad that mother taught me to
write, though I do not compose very well; but if you will allow me, I
will send a letter to Swampville, from the first place we come to, to
tell you the name of the country where we are going. I know your name,
for it is upon this paper, and I hope you will not think I have done
wrong, for I have written my own name beside it. O sir! I am very sad
that I am not to see you any more, for I am afraid father will never
come back. I could cry all night and all day, and I have cried a deal,
but I am afraid of their seeing me, for both father and his friend have
scolded me, and said a many things against you. I do not like to hear
them say things against you; and for that reason I try not to let them
know how very sorry I am that I am never to meet you any more. Brave
stranger! you saved my life; but it is not that, I think, that makes me
so unhappy now, but something else. You are so different from the
others I have seen; and what you said to me was not like anything I ever
heard before; your words sounded so sweet, and I could have listened to
them for ever. I remember every one of them. And then I was so proud
when you took the flower from me, and held it to your lips, for it made
me think that you would be my friend. I have been very lonely since my
sister Marian went away--she went with the man you saw. I hope to see
her soon now, as she is somewhere out in the country where we are going
to, but that will not make me happy, if I can never see you again.

"O sir! forgive me for writing all that I have written; but I thought
from what you said to me you would not be displeased with me for it, and
that is why I have written it. But I must write no more, for my eyes
are full of tears, and I cannot see the paper. I hope you will not burn
it, but keep it, to remember--

"Lilian Holt."

Yes, Lilian! to the last hour of my life! Close to my bosom shall it
lie--that simple souvenir of your maiden love. Sacred page! Transcript
of sweet truth--hallowed by the first