“What is the matter with you, Benning?” he asked. “You act very strangely, and you look as if you had lost all the friends you had in the world. Can it be possible that the death of Mr. Robinette affects you so strongly?”
“No. He was a good man, and I respected him highly; but I have no special reason to grieve for him.”
“It must be, then, that it is the loss of Miss Flora that troubles you.”
“I confess it. If she had been killed, it would have been relief to know it; but she has been carried away, we know not where, and it is terrible to think of the fate that may be reserved for her.”
“You seem to take it harder than any of the rest of us, although you are in no way related to her. I have noticed, during this journey, that you were much interested in Miss Flora, and I intended to tell you, as I now must, that it was her father’s wish that she should become my wife.”
“Indeed! Was she aware of it?”
“I don’t know that she was. She was an only child, as you know, and Mr. Robinette was possessed of considerable property. It was his desire that she should marry a careful and prudent man of business, such as he considered me to be, who would take care that her means were not wasted.”
“Be that as it may, Mr. Laurie—and I do not mean to dispute your word—it is useless to say any more about it now. She is gone, and it is doubtful if either of us will be permitted to see her again in this world. There is a chance, however, that she may still be living. I mean to search for her, and shall never abandon the search while life is left to me. I will not hinder you, of course, from devoting yourself to the same object, if you wish to do so.”
“Now that Mr. Robinette is dead, it is my duty, under his instructions, to take this party on to the rendezvous west of the mountains, and follow the plan that he had formed for this season’s work. If I can do any thing to help you, I will gladly do it.”