"I'm so glad."
"My dear child," he said, stroking her head caressingly, "though we have found what we lost, we have sustained a greater loss in Mr. Wrenford. You have cause to thank God for the greatest deliverance of your life, for he has proved himself unworthy of you. It is not necessary for you to know all the unhappy circumstances."
"Tell me all," she whispered. "Withhold nothing."
The Chief gave a brief resume of what had happened. Abbie groaned and staggered and would have fallen had not her father's strong arms caught her and carried her upstairs to her own room.
Months elapsed before Abbie recovered from the shock. She could not escape from the sensation of having had a terrifying nightmare. Natural emotion could not be suppressed. She could do nothing but weep, and would fly to her own room, lay her face on the pillow and give full vent to her feelings. It was a long time before she was able to rise above the overwhelming sense of disappointment and loss.
CHAPTER XV.
A ROMANTIC WEDDING.
1815.
There came a time early in the life of Rug, the Chief's youngest son, when love of adventure gave way to a deeper, holier love. One beatific vision was ever before him—the vision of a beautiful girl just budding into womanhood.
The first glimpse he ever had of Hannah Chamberlain was at the little Congregational meeting-house, which had been supplied with a pastor by the Congregational Board of Massachusetts in response to an appeal from the settlers. He often sat gazing at her through the whole service, and whenever she looked towards him now and then she might have read in his tell-tale face the passionate emotion which stirred his heart. He was at a loss to understand why her presence had such a strange influence over him.