“Yes,” answered he, “I well recollect, it reminds me again of that poor girl. I wish I could forget her.”
“Well,” said Earth, “I will go and bring the pack he was carrying; who knows but from it we may learn who she is.”
“Well, do,” said Rolfe, eagerly, “I had forgotten it, but now I am all anxiety to see it, come, make haste, Earth, I will walk on, you get it, and overtake me.”
“Very well,” said Earth, who leaving him, soon found the secreted bundle, and bore it along to his friend. Seeking the first spot which presented an agreeable shade and a seat, they stopped and proceeded at once to examine its contents. It was made up chiefly of blankets and articles of clothing, among which were some belonging to a female wardrobe, which were carefully drawn out, and laid aside. Rolfe's anxiety increased as he inspected each article, for they served to confirm somewhat the vague suspicion his mind had already adopted. The search continued, yet his fears were not diminished, nor was his suspicion much strengthened, when drawing out a cambric handkerchief, he saw traced on it, in his own hand writing, the words, “R. Rolfe.” Had a ball entered his heart, the pang would not have been greater than upon the recognition of those words. He grew pale and almost livid, and said, in a scarcely articulate voice, “Earth, it is she, we exchanged handkerchiefs the day I left her;” and with an agonized face, he gazed fixedly on the words “R. Rolfe.” Not a tear came to his relief. Earth kindly endeavoured to console him, by combating his suspicions with such reasons as his mind suggested, and then examined again every article of the bundle. There was not one but would as well have belonged to any other person. The handkerchief, however, had already carried conviction to Rolfe's mind. But with Earth's arguments against the probability that one rich and happy as Rolfe represented the lady of his love, should have emigrated, hope began to dawn in the shape of uncertainty. “Yes,” cried Rolfe, “I left her rich and contented, surrounded with all the comforts of civilized life, and aware of the unsettled state of the west. Her father even ridiculed the idea of my emigrating.”
“Then, rest sure, there is some mistake, it cannot be her,” said Earth, and the thought that the captive maiden was not his first and only love took possession of his mind. But it was only for a moment, for when he recollected the face and figure of her, of whom he had only caught a passing glance; and then when he gazed upon the wardrobe spread out before him, and saw the handkerchief with his own name, which he himself had traced, and believed, from the manner in which it had come into her possession, that she would never have parted with it, conviction forced itself upon him and his only relief was tears.
Then sprung up her light form before him, then crowded thick upon his memory associations of former days, and he saw her only in those moments in which she had been kind to him, or else when touching her guitar, with so much feeling and tenderness in her countenance, so much naiveté in her manner, that all those graces which give power to females, seemed to settle upon her without any effort of her own. And when these recollections swept over his mind, and then, when her present situation with all its startling horrors followed on, his heart grew deadly sick, and nature seemed almost to yield to the struggle. It was like the whirlwind which lasts for a moment, but during that moment, threatens to annihilate every thing which opposes its progress. So was it with Rolfe, the storm of passion and grief had vented itself, threatening for a time to unthrone reason, yet it had passed, and he now remained comparatively calm and unmoved, and was again capable of action. To an uninterested spectator this scene would have afforded some amusement. For Earthquake could not exactly comprehend the cause of Rolfe's grief, yet sympathized so deeply, that when he beheld the struggles of his friend, and saw tears burst forth; involuntarily they rushed from his own eyes like a spring flood. A few moments and they ceased to flow; yet another struggle from Rolfe, a flow of feeling, and Earthquake's floodgates were again opened.
“Come, Rolfe,” said he, blubbering, “no more of this, let us be moving, for my eyes leak like a cracked gourd, but the way I'll pay some of 'em for this, will be a caution for the future.”
“Where do you propose going, Earth?”
“Any where you please.”
“Shall we return to the camp, and follow on after the maiden?”