The blood rushed to Marie’s temples on hearing the name, and she turned her face away to conceal her agitation, while, in a low voice, she said—
“Is Jasper Derry, then, your intimate friend?”
“That is he—a very intimate friend indeed. But you appear to know him.”
“Yes, I—I know him—I have seen him. I hope he is well,” said Marie; and she listened with a beating heart for the answer, though she still turned her face away.
“Oh! he’s well enough,” said Jasper; “sickness don’t often trouble him. He’s going to be married.”
Had a bullet struck the girl’s heart she could not have turned more deadly pale than she did on hearing this. She half rose from the tree stump, and would have fallen to the ground insensible, had not Jasper caught her in his arms.
“My own Marie,” said he fervently, “forgive me, dearest; forgive my folly, my wickedness, in deceiving you in this fashion. Oh, what a fool I am!” he added, as the poor girl still hung heavily in his grasp—“speak to me Marie, my own darling.”
Whether it was the earnestness of his voice, or the kiss which he printed on her forehead, or the coolness of the evening air, I know not, but certain it is that Marie recovered in the course of a few minutes, and, on being convinced that Jasper really was her old lover, she resigned herself, wisely, to her fate, and held such an uncommonly long conversation with the bold hunter, that the moon was up and the stars were out before they turned their steps towards the Fort.
“Why, Jasper Derry,” cried Mr Pemberton, as the hunter entered the hall of Fort Erie, “where have you been. I’ve been expecting you every moment for the last two hours.”
“Well, you see, Mr Pemberton, I just went down the river a short bit to see an old friend and I was kep’ longer than I expected,” said Jasper, with a cool, grave face, as he grasped and shook the hand which was held out to him.