were really on the slab, and then she meant to go to Bessie's room and ascertain whether or not Priscilla had spoken falsely, The whole thing baffled Heather. But for the locking of the door, she should have thought nothing more about the matter; but what object either Bessie or Priscilla could have in thus cutting off immediate communication between the two parts of the house, she was quite unable to divine. There on the slab lay Bessie's letter-a thick letter, for Heather lifted and held it in her hand for a moment; then she laid it down again, and ascended the front staircase, slowly and thoughtfully. She had not reached the landing, however, before Priscilla was beside her. "Ma'am Mrs. Dudley," began the girl, "you can turn me out of the house this moment, if you like. I told you a lie about that letter. I did not go to Miss Bessie's room for it. Miss Bessie is gone." "Gone!" Heather looked at the girl, and blankly repeated that word after her. "Yes, ma'am; and there is a letter for you, please, on the toilet-table," at which point in her confession Prissy began to whimper. "Don't do that," said Mrs. Dudley, almost angrily. "Go on before me to Miss Ormson's room, and be quiet.” Thus ordered, Priscilla walked along the passage, and, opening the door of Bessie's bed-chamber, stood aside to allow Mrs. Dudley to enter. Heather, as she did so, glanced hurriedly round the apartment. There was no disorder, no confusion; everything looked precisely as it might have done had Bessie been there-only Bessie was not there. Heather went up to the bed, and put her hand on the sheet. It felt warm, and she turned to Priscilla, saying, interrogatively— 66 She has only just left the house?" "She went at one o'clock, ma'am." 'Impossible! I have been in the room myself since four o'clock, and she was sleeping then." 66 That was me, ma'am; and I was not asleep. I heard you come in-I never went to sleep all night. I'd have given anything, ma'am, if I might have told you. I never was so miserable in all my life-and poor Miss Bessie, she were a-crying dreadful." "Where is she gone?" "Who is she gone with?" "That gentleman as is so sweet on her." "You don't mean Mr. Harcourt?" | Had any one come to her and said Bessie was dead, she could not have felt more shocked-more grieved. Under her eyes this thing had been going on this deception from day to day, and from week to week-and she had never even suspected its existence. Her very servant had been cognisant of it; this girl, this false, cheating, untruthful Prissy Dobbin, had been persuaded by Bessie to conceal the mischief until it was too late to repair it. And Bessie, too, that bright, gay, affectionate creature, was but a hypocrite and a deceiver! Mrs. Dudley felt this to be the last drop in the cup, and, covering her face, wept bitterly. "Don't 'ee, ma'am," implored Priscilla, "don't 'ee take on so! Read what Miss Bessie says, mayhap that 'ill tell you where she's gone. The gentleman worships the very ground she treads on; and they would have told you, only something about his father, I don't rightly know what, prevented them. Miss Bessie prayed and begged him yesterday to let her speak to you. He wanted her, right or wrong, to go off with him then, but she wouldn't; she said she wouldn't spoil your Christmas Day, not for fifty husbands—she did.” "You were very fond of Miss Bessie?" Mrs. Dudley said, inquiringly. "Main fond, ma'am," answered the girl. "I took to her from the day she talked to me in the field, and give I that harf a crown." "Then don't go chattering about her having gone off with any one, Prissy. If you are fond of her, show your fondness by keeping silence." And with that, Mrs. Dudley, first bidding Prissy stay with Lally, in case she wakened, went and roused her husband. "Arthur," she said, "Bessie is off-she has eloped. What are we to do?" "Bessie eloped-Bessie off! Heather, you must be dreaming!" "I wish I were," answered his wife. "Is there any use in trying to follow her, do you think?" "There might be, if we knew where she was gone," Arthur replied. "What does she say in her letter?" he added, noticing the paper in his wife's hand. "She does not give a clue," said Heather. "She merely states she is gone to be married, and that, whenever her husband allows her, she will write again.' "Better call up Alick," suggested Arthur; and accordingly Alick was started. "They have four hours' start," said the young man, practically, when he had heard Heather's story, "and their plans must have been well laid. "Dear! no, ma'am; that other what she came I will follow if you like, but I think it is useless. back from church to meet yesterday." Utterly bewildered, Heather stood in the middle of the room, confounded and almost stupefied. They are in London by this time." "What makes you think they have gone to London?" asked Heather. "Because it is the only place in which to be lost," answered the youth. And the three stood and looked at each other for a few moments in utter silence. was yearning after the girl, but he would not speak a word that could give a clue as to whom she had eloped with. She had prayed him not to tell Heather, and he A great blow had suddenly fallen on them; would be faithful to his trust. From him Heather and they felt stunned with its force. That such a thing should have happened there! that they should all have bidden each other good night, without a suspicion of coming evil-and that this should have come to pass before morning! Heather was the first to speak. "And Mr. Harcourt, too-what will he say?" "If he be a wise man, 'that he is well rid of her,'" answered Arthur. "She must be a bad girl -a bad false girl." 66 But, oh! so good to Lally," said Heather, deprecatingly; "and I do not think it was of her own free will she went now-I do not-I believe she was driven to it. Read her letter, Arthurread how she says she tried to like Mr. Harcourt, and how her mother forced her on. If I only knew she were married, I could rest satisfied." And so husband and wife talked on, while Alick, standing by, remained resolutely silent. He would tell nothing about it; he would say nothing concerning the stranger they had met at North Kemms; he would not utterly destroy Heather's faith, and show her that Bessie had been a deceiver from the beginning. His heart never should know how false this girl had been— this girl with the lovely face, and the sweet, winning manners, which had gained her so many friends. "The matter should be kept quiet;" each attributing different meanings to that expression, agreed as to the expediency of this course. Arthur said he would go to town with Alick, and take Bessie's letter on to her father. 'Then, Mr. Ormson can do whatever he thinks best," said the Squire; and Heather at once went to see that breakfast was got ready for the brothers before their departure. "I wonder who she can have picked up," remarked Squire Dudley, when his wife left the room; "you never saw anybody hanging about the place, did you, Alick?" Very truthfully, Alick answered that he had not; but still in his own soul he felt satisfied Bessie had gone off with the stranger, who sat in the same pew with them, and restored Miss Ormson's prayer-book on that Sunday when he and his cousin walked across the fields to North Kemms church, talking as they went. "HE POINTED WITH HIS SKINNY HAND, AND UTTERED EAGER CRIES." (Drawn by W. Small.) "Granddad! here is thy daughter Joan, Come o'er with cousin Jane!" "Ay, ay," he cries, with a feeble flush, Then his soul shuts again. All year long he sat by the fire, And we had heard strange tales Of his life of old, when he tossed and rolled Amid the lonesome gales. volleys, as though the assailants would pour out their impotent fury on the insensible scene of the fatal contest. A steady, though deliberate return, was made from the rifle of Chingachgook, who had maintained his post throughout the fray with unmoved resolution. When the triumphant shout of Uncas was borne to his ears, the gratified father had raised his voice in a single responsive cry, after which his busy piece alone proved that he still guarded his pass with unwearied diligence. In this manner many minutes flew by with the swiftness of thought; the rifles of the assailants speaking at times in rattling volleys, and at others in occasional scattering shots. Though the rocks, the trees, and the shrubs were cut and torn in a hundred places around the besieged, their cover was so close, and so rigidly maintained, that as yet David had been the only sufferer in their little band. "Let them burn their powder," said the deliberate scout, while bullet after bullet whizzed by the place where he so securely lay; "there will be a fine gathering of lead when it is over, and I fancy the imps will tire of the sport afore these old stones cry out for mercy! Uncas, boy, you waste the kernels by overcharging; and a kicking rifle never carries a true bullet. I told you to take that loping miscreant under the line of white paint; now, if your bullet went a hair's breadth, it went two inches above it. The life lies low in a Mingo, and humanity teaches us to make a quick end of the sarpents." A quiet smile lighted the haughty features of the young Mohiean, betraying his knowledge of the English language, as well as of the other's meaning; but he suffered it to pass away without vindication or reply. "I cannot permit you to accuse Uncas of want of judgment or of skill," said Duncan ; "he saved my life in the coolest and readiest manner, and he has made a friend who never will require to be reminded of the debt he owes." Uncas partly raised his body, and offered his hand to the grasp of Heyward. During this act of friendship the two young men exchanged looks of intelligence, which caused Duncan to forget the character and condition of his wild associate. In the meanwhile Hawk-eye, who looked on this burst of youthful feeling with a cool, but kind regard, made the following calm reply exclaimed Duncan, involuntarily shrinking from a shot which struck on the rock at his side with a smart rebound. Hawk-eye laid his hand on the shapeless metal, and shook his head as he examined it, saying, "Falling lead is never flattened! had it come from the clouds this might have happened!" But the rifle of Uncas was deliberately raised towards the heavens, directing the eyes of his companions to a point where the mystery was immediately explained. A ragged oak grew on the right bank of the river, nearly opposite to their position, which, seeking the freedom of the open space, had inclined so far forward that its upper branches overhung the arm of the stream which flowed nearest to its own shore. Among the topmost leaves, which scantily concealed the gnarled and stinted limbs, a dark-looking savage was nestled, partly concealed by the trunk of the tree, and partly exposed, as though looking down upon them to ascertain the effect produced by his treacherous aim. "These devils will scale heaven to circumvent us to our ruin," said Hawk-eye. "Keep him in play, boy, until I can bring 'kill-deer' to bear, when we will try his mettle on each side of the tree at once." Uncas delayed his fire until the scout uttered the word. The rifles flashed, the leaves and bark of the oak flew into the air, and were scattered by the wind; but the Indian answered their assault by a taunting laugh, sending down upon them another bullet in return, that struck the cap of Hawk-eye from his head. Once more the savage yells burst out of the woods, and the leaden hail whistled above the heads of the besieged, as if to confine them to a place where they might become easy victims to the enterprise of the warrior who had mounted the tree. "This must be looked to!" said the scout, glancing about him with an anxious eye. "Uncas, call up your father; we have need of all our we'pons to bring the cunning varment from his roost." The signal was instantly given, and before Hawk-eye had reloaded his rifle, they were joined by Chingachgook. When his son pointed out to the experienced warrior the situation of their dangerous enemy, the usual exclamatory “hugh" burst from his lips, after which, no further expression of surprise or alarm was suffered to escape from him. Hawk-eye and the Mohicans conversed earnestly together in Delaware for a few moments, when each quietly took his post, in order to execute the plan they had speedily devised. "Life is an obligation which friends often owe to each other in the wilderness. I dare say I may have served Uncas some such turn myself before now; and I very well remember that he has stood between me and death five different times-three times from the Mingoes, once in crossing Horican, The warrior in the oak had maintained a quick, and--" though ineffectual fire, from the moment of his "That bullet was better aimed than common!" discovery. But his aim was interrupted by the |