ous day,
and had fallen victims to the frost-king. But nothing had been touched
by the savages. The domestic fowls clustered about her, and received
their food from her hands as usual. The fawn was with her, and evinced
the delight afforded by the occasional caress bestowed upon it, by
frequently skipping sportively around her. Mary was happy. Her wants
were few, and she knew not that there was such a thing as a malicious
enemy in the world, save the wild savage. Her thoughts were as pure as
the morning dew, and all her delights were the results of innocence.
She had never harmed any one, and her guileless heart never conceived
the possibility of suffering ill at the hands of others. She smiled
when the beautiful fawn touched her hand with its velvet tongue, and a
tear dimmed her eye for an instant when she looked upon her stricken
rose.

While looking at one of the homely shelves in a corner of the deserted
house, Mary accidentally espied a small volume of poems, the gift of
Glenn, that had been neglected. She seized it eagerly, and after
turning over the pages the fiftieth time, and humming over many of the
songs, she paused suddenly, and lifting her eyes to the bright
sun-beams that streamed through the window, long remained in a
listless attitude. Something unusual had startled her simple
meditations. At first a shade of painful concern seemed to pass across
her brow, and then glancing quickly at the book she still held in her
hand, a sweet smile animated her lips. But again and again, ever and
anon, the abstracted gaze was repeated, and as often succeeded by the
smile when her eyes fell upon the volume. Did her thoughts dwell upon
the giver of that book? Undoubtedly. Did she love Glenn? This she knew
not herself, but she would have died for him! She was ignorant of the
terms courtship, love, and marriage. But nature had given her a heart
abounding with noble and generous impulses.

At length she drew her shawl closely round her shoulders, and, closing
the door of the hut, was in the act of returning up the hill, when she
was startled by the furious and sudden barking of the hounds, which
she had left confined in the inclosure on the cliff. She paused, and
looked steadily in every direction, and was not able to discover, or
even conjecture, what it was that had roused the hounds. Yet an
undefinable fear seized upon her. The fawn at her side likewise
partook of the agitation, for the hair stood upright on its back,