“My next reconnoissance was to be to the south; and I only waited until my jaded horse might be sufficiently rested for another journey.
“Another day passed, and I was sitting upon a log near the fire, reflecting upon the dark future that lay before us. I was filled with despondency, and took no note of what was passing around. When I had sat in this way for some time, I felt a light hand touching me upon the shoulder; and, looking up, I saw that Mary had seated herself upon the log beside me, while a smile of cheerfulness and composure was playing upon her features.
“I saw that she had something in her mind that she was about to communicate to me.
“‘What is it, Mary?’ I asked.
“‘Is not this a lovely spot?’ said she, waving her hand so as to indicate the whole scene by which we were surrounded. My eyes, along with hers, roamed for a moment over the fair picture, and I could not do otherwise than answer in the affirmative. It was, indeed, a lovely spot. The open glade, with the golden sun streaming down upon its green herbage, and vivid flowers—the varied tints of the forest frondage, now dressed in the brilliant lively of autumn—the cliffs beyond, contrasting with it in colour from their lining of dark-green cedars and pines—and, higher still, the snow-white summit, as it towered against the blue sky, sparkling under the sun, and lending a delicious coolness to the air—all these objects formed a panorama that was indeed lovely to look upon. And there were sweet sounds falling upon the ear—the murmur of distant waters—the light rustling of leaves, stirred by a soft breeze that blew past laden with the aromatic odours of buds and flowers—the music of birds that sang to each other in the groves, or uttered their joyous calls as they flapped their bright wings over the open glade.
“‘Yes, Mary,’ I replied, ‘it is indeed a lovely spot.’
“‘Then, Robert,’ said she, with a look of strange meaning, ‘why should we be so anxious to leave it?’
“‘Why?’ I repeated mechanically after her, wondering at the question.
“‘Yes, why?’ continued my wife. ‘We are in search of a home—why not make this our home? Where can we find a better? How know we that in that land whither we were going, we may find one so good—if, indeed, they give us a home at all?’
“‘But, dear Mary,’ said I, ‘how could you live away from the world—you who have been brought up in the midst of society and its refinements?’