But how do you know that Mabel prefars me?
How do you know it, lad?
To me it seems impossible like!"
"Is she not to marry you, and would Mabel marry a man she does not love?"
"She has been hard urged by the Sergeant, she has; and a dutiful child may have found it difficult to withstand the wishes of a dying parent.
Have you ever told Mabel that you prefarred her, Jasper -- that you bore her these feelings?"
"Never, Pathfinder. I would not do you that wrong."
"I believe you, lad, I do believe you; and I think you would now go off to the salt water, and let the scent die with you.
But this must not be.
Mabel shall hear all, and she shall have her own way, if my heart breaks in the trial, she shall.
No words have ever passed 'atween you, then, Jasper?"
"Nothing of account, nothing direct.
Still, I will own all my foolishness, Pathfinder; for I ought to own it to a generous friend like you, and there will be an end of it.
You know how young people understand each other, or think they understand each other, without always speaking out in plain speech, and get to know each other's thoughts, or to think they know them, by means of a hundred little ways."
"Not I, Jasper, not I," truly answered the guide; for, sooth to say, his advances had never been met with any of that sweet and precious encouragement which silently marks the course of sympathy united to passion.
"Not I, Jasper; I know nothing of all this.
Mabel has always treated me fairly, and said what she has had to say in speech as plain as tongue could tell it."
"You have had the pleasure of hearing her say that she loved you, Pathfinder?"
"Why, no, Jasper, not just that in words.
She has told me that we never could, never ought to be married; that she was not good enough for me, though she did say that she honored me and respected me.
But then the Sergeant said it was always so with the youthful and timid; that her mother did so and said so afore her; and that I ought to be satisfied if she would consent on any terms to marry me, and therefore I have concluded that all was right, I have."
In spite of all his friendship for the successful wooer, in spite of all his honest, sincere wished for his happiness, we should be unfaithful chroniclers did we not own that Jasper felt his heart bound with an uncontrollable feeling of delight at this admission.
It was not that he saw or felt any hope connected with the circumstance; but it was grateful to the jealous covetousness of unlimited love thus to learn that no other ears had heard the sweet confessions that were denied its own.
"Tell me more of this manner of talking without the use of the tongue," continued Pathfinder, whose countenance was becoming grave, and who now questioned his companion like one who seemed to anticipate evil in the reply.
"I can and have conversed with Chingachgook, and with his son Uncas too, in that mode, afore the latter fell; but I didn't know that young girls practysed this art, and, least of all, Mabel Dunham."
"'Tis nothing, Pathfinder.
I mean only a look, or a smile, or a glance of the eye, or the trembling of an arm or a hand when the young woman has had occasion to touch me; and because I have been weak enough to tremble even at Mabel's breath, or her brushing me with her clothes, my vain thoughts have misled me.
I never spoke plainly to Mabel myself, and now there is no use for it, since there is clearly no hope."
"Jasper," returned Pathfinder simply, but with a dignity that precluded further remarks at the moment, "we will talk of the Sergeant's funeral and of our own departure from this island.
After these things are disposed of, it will be time enough to say more of the Sergeant's daughter.
This matter must be looked into, for the father left me the care of his child."
Jasper was glad enough to change the subject, and the friends separated, each charged with the duty most peculiar to his own station and habits.
That afternoon all the dead were interred, the grave of Sergeant Dunham being dug in the centre of the glade, beneath the shade of a huge elm.
Mabel wept bitterly at the ceremony, and she found relief in thus disburthening her sorrow.
The night passed tranquilly, as did the whole of the following day, Jasper declaring that the gale was too severe to venture on the lake.
This circumstance detained Captain Sanglier also, who did not quit the island until the morning of the third day after the death of Dunham, when the weather had moderated, and the wind had become fair.
Then, indeed, he departed, after taking leave of the Pathfinder, in the manner of one who believed he was in company of a distinguished character for the last time.
The two separated like those who respect one another, while each felt that the other was all enigma to himself.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Playful she turn'd that he might see
The passing smile her cheek put on;
But when she marked how mournfully
His eyes met hers, that smile was gone.
Lalla Rookh.
The occurrences of the last few days had been too exciting, and had made too many demands on the fortitude of our heroine, to leave her in the helplessness of grief.
She mourned for her father, and she occasionally shuddered as she recalled the sudden death of Jennie, and all the horrible scenes she had witnessed; but on the whole she had aroused herself, and was no longer in the deep depression which usually accompanies grief.
Perhaps the overwhelming, almost stupefying sorrow that crushed poor June, and left her for nearly twenty-four hours in a state of stupor, assisted Mabel in conquering her own feelings, for she had felt called on to administer consolation to the young Indian woman.
This she had done in the quiet, soothing, insinuating way in which her sex usually exerts its influence on such occasions.
The morning of the third day was set for that on which the Scud was to sail. Jasper had made all his preparations; the different effects were embarked, and Mabel had taken leave of June, a painful and affectionate parting.
In a word, all was ready, and every soul had left the island but the Indian woman, Pathfinder, Jasper, and our heroine.