"Father," said Mary, who, on hearing this communication, had sprung to her feet, "I must go with you."
"My child!"
"I came all this way through the dark woods on purpose, father—and it is my right to go with him to his grave. Pray, dear father, do not forbid me. We belonged to each other, and he would be glad to think I was the last that left him—the very last."
"The poor child takes on so," said the wife of Drummond, now for the first time interposing in the scene; "and it seems natural, Mr. Musgrove, that you shouldn't hinder her. I will go along, and maybe it will be a comfort to her, to have some woman-kind beside her. I will take her hand."
"You shall go, Mary," said her father; "but on the condition that you govern your feelings, and behave with the moderation of a Christian woman. Take courage, my child, and show your nurture."
"I will, father—I will; the worst is past, and I can walk quietly to John's grave," replied Mary, as the tears again flowed fast, and her voice was stifled with her sobs.
"It is a heavy trouble for such a young creature to bear," said Mistress Drummond, as she stood beside the maiden, waiting for this burst of grief to subside; "but this world is full of such sorrows."
Musgrove now quitted the apartment. He was followed by his daughter and the rest of the inmates, all of whom repaired to the front of the cabin, where they awaited the removal of the body.
A bundle of pine faggots had been provided, and each one of the party was supplied from them with a lighted torch. Some little delay occurred whilst Harry Winter was concluding his arrangements for the funeral.
"Take your weapons along, boys," said the trooper to his comrades, in a whisper. "John Ramsay shall have the honors of war—and mark, you are to bring up the rear—let the women walk next the wagon. Gabriel Drummond, bring your rifle along—we shall give a volley over the grave."