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T* •'/.**» 'i s A SONG FOR APRIL. GAMAKI. TO EMMA. With sound of dove's wins* flyiug Young April now is nighing, / Fair joy resumes her reign. And trees whose roots were dying, And mourners deeply sighing. Cheer up. and thrive again: And flowers by nature painted Do smile at hearts that, fainted. An i hoped for smiles in vain. But while fair Flora’s fingers. Shed tints on every bloom. And nature’s feathered singers, Their vernal songs resume, Prav think of one forlnrn. Whose year of spring is shorn By winters icy gloom: Whose flower, too, was fragrant Not long ago, but vagrant I- now her sweet perfume. The flower I was possessing Is now nnothers blessing Thou art the fathlcss bloom. THE OLD TABBY HOUSE. BY HARNETT MoIYOK. CHAPTER X1V.— Forbidden* Fruit. Days multiplied to weeks, and these to months — and still Bertrand was seeding in vain. By ‘Personals’ in famous newspapers, by catching at fanciful clews which led him only into disap pointments, and sometimes into peril, for he grew often desperate, he followed the unsuccess- tnl chase. At last, hope and fear,—by turns sanguine and gloomy—began to tell upon his mental, as upon bis physical health. He determined to seek a softer climate, and delegate to others, it iuay be, the labor he could no longer safely per form bimseif. He placed his case in the hands of a skillful detective, and returned to the city of Oglethorpe. The winter season had come, and the aheer- less aspect of nature was in keeping with his melancholy fooling*. But Bertrand was still young in years, aud by simply roiling oti to the shoulders of another the burden he had bcrae for months, he found a partial relief. His pride was stung by the consciousness of failure. The first meeting with the young lawyer, revealed to Gor don that the subject of Helen’s disappearance was too sacred to bear discussion: it was never mentioned but once. But the heart of man is strangely inconsistent. No sooner did Bertrand discover the real state of affairs between the young beaut}- in the Old Tabby House and his intimate friend, than a dark purpose found place in his heart. Why should Gordon—why should any man be happy in a woman’s love whilst he was miserable? The very thought drove him to desperation. He could bear as little any reference to his friend's partiality lor Ellen, as he could a word or inti mation that brought back to memory the Belie of Brookline. If he could not thread the mazes of bis own mystery, and break the chains that bound him on the rack of misery, he could break the bonds of other loving hearts—and he resolved to accomplish it! Once again his old-time gallantry revived in full force. In Gordon’s presence he was moody, taciturn, sometimes scarcely respectful—but at Howard Hall be was all animation, intelligence, wit, caietv ! He saw at a glance the work before him ° His friend was guileless, candid, trustful. He. a man of the world, knew how to dazzle, bewilder, and ensnare the unwary. He had traveled much—he could paint pictures of scenery in words that brought the remembered scene in graphic distinctness before the hearer. He had read much—famous thoughts of classic Kuglish po -ts be had on his tongue’s epd. He oiety every art that could charm woman, and dazzle, if it did not please men. He could place himself en rapport with his subject in such style that he anticipated every thought, aud shared every emotion ot his hearers. He was not destitute of conscience, but he was proud, and his soul rose too loftily, imperially exacting to sutler the crown of happiness to be snatched from his g”asp, and worn by auotber. The crown of happiness? Indeed, he did not dream at first that he ever could truly love the beau tiful Ellen Gaston. No! but be could cause her to love him 1 He could make his friend’s cup as bitter as his own; he could win the affection he did not want—he could humble, and crush this defenceless woman, because his own heart was rankling with a broken arrow- thrown by another woman’s hand ! He did not breathe the word—nor think out the purpose into clearness of statement—but in his heart there lay a lurking demon, dark as the throne of Erebus—remise 1 To resolve and to act, with him, were syn- onvm.s. His first visit to the Old Tabby House revealed the line of his attack. He saw that this pure-minded girl, whose ideas of the world had been received almost wholly from boots, was accessible from only one direction. To make an issue with her heart at present, was certain failure. Not a word must be uttered that could, in any way, introduce a discussion of the tender passion. Not a word that could possibly mature her prepossession for Gordon into tire expression of decided affection. As yet, the dream of her life had filled only her consciousness—she had never reasoned about her future, or given her thoughts words to build their fabric on—she bad never asked herselt the question, and he had never breathed it. Here, then, was the work to be accomplished. Ellen, like all enthusiastic natures, young in years, and fresh in their enthusiasm, was a hero-worshipper. She reverenced men ol ge nius, as all good and all great women do. In tellect is God’s likeness stamped upon humanity —Mind is the reflection of the ineffable Shekinah of Jehovah. To capture this young heart, it was only necessary to awe, and dazzle, and bewilder her untaught, but exquisitely sen sitive mind. At once he assumed the office of a teacher— he became, in terms, what she had timidly asked Gordon to be to ber—a Mentor. He had studied Nature. The world of BotaDy is a universe of beauty, adaptation, purpose, skill, romance, law and philosophy: the world of planis is a cyclopaedia of thought. He understood their habits, and explained them. He could trace the delicate Soul of Nature in every motion o! its infinite successions, and interpret the lan guage, the lives, the loves, the misiortunes. and the glories of the flowery kingdom. His fancy was quick to weave the creations of afruitfu; imagination into wondrous webs of mysterious beauty, and as he took her by the hand, and led her through the labyrinth of Nature, she felt her own helplessness, even by the help of the golden thread fastened at the door, to retrace her steps alone, without his guiding hand and assuring presence. He was an experienced critic in the fine arts, too, and had the delicate tact which gives iu- struc'ion when it only seems to be drawing out, the ideas and the judgment of the hearer. 'Che whole lexicon of art language was Ht his com mand. A pictnre, which to ether eyes presented only a sorry copy ot nature, to him, presented atberi:>-of eloquent praise. Light, and shade, and color—the indefinable gift of the yrue artist which conceals art, and reproduces nature— these he could point out to the wondering eyes of the simple maideu, and whilst the technical terms of art-eritic’sm conveyed little meining to her. the impression of his profound wisdom was firmly fixed in her mind. Chance meeting—appointed interviews— stu dious efforts to consult her pleasure, and min ister to her thirst for knowledge—all these were improved with untiring diligence. His watch ful eye did not fail to see that his company was a source of delight—that he had inspired her with a growing passion, which r.t first was merely intellectual, but he knew how to mould and direct it as he pleased. Herbert Gordon’s ’ influence was evidently waning. The young lawyer was slow to see the progress of events, but the time came when he could no longer close his eyes to the truth. The gifted Bertrand had charmed his beautiful friend, aud his own conversation now seemed dull and uninteresting to her. The simple tastes of Gordon, his antipathy to everything that resembled pedantry and pretence, forbade any thought of rivalry in the chosen field of lit erary- display. In their evening conversations, when Bertrand w-as not present, Ellen could scarcely avoid quoting bis sentiments, and ex pressing her admiration of his learning and genius. Nowand then, when the three were together, a sly thrust at Gordon was seldom omitted. Woman’s equality in intellect with man was a frequent theme for artful use. The silly nothings that form so large a part oi‘ polite conversation in society were magnified as in sults to woman’s understanding. Were there not great mathematicians who were women ? Had not the fields of science yielded as large results to woman's industry as to that of man ? Why should we degrade and enfeeble the sex by- presuming her incapacity, and dooming her to perpetual childhood ? In vain Herbert sought to defend himself from a charge as unjust as it was injurious to him. Ellen could not help feeling that the tenor of the conversation, as between the two men, was al ways in Bertrand's favor She could scarcely repress the conviction that in some way, the hours she spent with Gordon were unprofitable. Herbert mourned in secret over his declining influence with Ellen. More than once he sought to remonstrate with Montmollin, but he met him with a humorous sally, and protestufcions of profound indifference to Ellen Gaston. Her bert knew his heart’s history, aud that there was nothing to fear from his innocent pastimes at Howard Hall. But Gordon was not longer to be deluded. lie bad never spoken openly, plainly to Ellen of his love for her. His pover ty, his modesty, Ids timidity had forbidden hitherto. lVt he felt that the eclipse of this hope would leave his earthly career in gloom forever. For once, he determined to know his fate, and with that purpose in his mind, lie di rected his steps to the Old Tabby House. The wiuter evening was clear and cold. The light beamed from the windows of the parlor, and the piano sent its stirring notes into the frosty air, as Herbert stood with tin* door-knock er iu bis hand. His heart trembled at the thought that his dreaded enemy might be there before him. And thus it proved. Bertrand had brought the music of a new opera, and was dis coursing eloquently of its beauties as Herbert entered the parlor. Montmollin’s face beamed with friendly recognition, and his graceful form seemed to assert its superiority in still farther measure, ns the young lawyer took his seat, look ing the picture of chagrin and mortification. Ellen was as beautiful, and graceful, and enter taining as ever. But Bertrand monopolized the evening, He threw the wondrous charm of his cultivated voice into his descriptions of places and beauties ot old-world grandeur, and before the evening was half spent Herbert felt that his fate was sealed. But the shrewd calculating mind of Bertrand peic-ived the true condition of his friend’s heart, and lie made it convenient to retire, after ho had essayed a particularly brilliant passage describing some of the wonders of Alpine scen ery. Herbert felt an embarrassment in Ellen’s presence that he had never known before, she -i i* -ui tv ob lost lit reverie for some moments. ‘It was uiy purpose this evening, Miss Gas ton,’ Herbert at length began; and the unusual phrase sounded so distantly, so freezingly, that lie felt his own heart chilled by the new rela tions that were being prepared for them both, ‘It was my purpose to reveal to yon a iact which to me is of great importance, whatever it may be to you.' He paused, and Ellen looked into bis face with her bright features sobered somewhat by- anxiety. The tone of his voice—the forma! man ner of addressing her his embarrassment per plexed her very much. T am sure I feel interested in anything that concerns you, Mr. Gordon,’ she quietly re marked. Her voice re-assured him, and he continued. ‘Miss Ellen, if I may be so rash as to express my thoughts to you in absolute candor, your kind heart will make allowances for me, and forgive me if you can do no more. From the first day that I met you in this house, to this hour you have held in your hands the thread of my destiny. I have loved you as deeply, as purely as I believe any man ever loved a worthy- woman. I know that I am not your equal in fortune —that I am not qualified to make you happy, perhaps, for there are others whom you know, that are more generously gifted by na ture; but there cannot exist in human form one who is more capable of devoting ambition, life and fortune to secure your happiness.' He paused again—his voice trembled, and he seemed for a moment incapable ot resuming. Ellen’s eyes filled with tears. She turned her head away—then quietly seated herself at the piano. Her hand fell upon one of those simple songs that Herbert had often admired. She ran her fingers over the keys iu subdued measure, but did not sing the words. The memories as sociated with the air were vivid in the mind of Herbert. ‘You remember that song, Mr. Gordon ?’she said very sweetly, resting her white hand upon the keys, and turning to her visitor. ‘I can never forget it,’ he replied. ‘Will you tell me what your thoughts were when I first tried to sing it for you? Do you re member them ?' ‘As if it were but yesterday, Ellen. It was the first day that you left your sick chamber, and lire servants assisted you to the parlor. I came through the orange-grove and brought in my hand one of the freshest flowers from tne tree near the bower. I Lad not seen you for many weeks. Your face was very pale, and there was only a taint tinge of healthy color oa your cheek. You sat then at the piano, and sang that song to try your voice. The effort taxed your strength, but the aninaticn which the music g*vo you brightened the glow upon your cheek.' ‘Was it only the music, Mr. Gordon; and was nothing duo to the presence of the kind friend who-e anxious enquiries after my health were daih made?' “Ah ! Ellen ! you must answer that?” ‘But what followed the song, Mr. Gordon.’ •I gave you the flower, and you placed it in vour hair. Shall I tell you what I thought then ? That the soft light of that beautiful flower was not half so lovely as the cheek it shaded, and that the time might come, perhaps, when you would use a wreath of orauge-blooms upon a day the happiest that this earth can have for me!’ ‘But the flower is withered, Mr. Gordon.’ 'And lost—yes, but the hope has not yet died in my soul.’ ‘Nor is the flower lost,’ answered Ellen, open ing a smalt herbarium near her. ‘Your flower is withered, but it is still cherished. Seel' d he orange-blossom in delicate beauty lay embalmed between the leaves of the book. Her bert's eyes were gladdened by the sight of his simple gift. It had a message for him which no words were needed to convey. After all, he thought Bertrand had not succeeded in sup- j planting him in the young girl's heart. The ice was broken now. In passionate i words his tongue fouud expression, and the full cup of his hopes and fears, his misgivings and doubts was pouredjiorth. But with maid enly reserve Ellen heiirM his vows, and beard them not unwillingly he' thought, for her fair face was lighted by a smile which gave the en couragement which yet her words tendered not. In after days he recalled the incidents of that evening, and saw that after all, he had missed j the lesson which his fair instructress intended i to teach him. A lesson which all men and ! women—young and old—in the morning, the I noon, and evening time of life are called upon to learn—the lesson which few of ns will heed j till repeated over, and the heart grows weary j with its monotony. The tantalizing lesson, i Patience ! CHAPTER XV'.—An Untimely Frost. Never before this midwinter was such a snow- I storm seen in Oglethorpe. The air w-as white I for nearly two days with the descending snow. : and every device that ingenuity could call into j service was employed to imitate the sleighing I of Northern latitudes. Boxes placed upon rnn- | ners of every size and grade of clumsiness, j dashed through the rtjjfts at early dawn, and j far into the night. Bella, of all grades and de- | grees tinkled their merry notes all day long, j Business was suspended, and the unusual visi- ] tatiou caused a general holiday. It was literally the reign of snow. Old and young, all colors, ! all classes of people mingled in the streets, and I pelting snow-balls, and practical jokes of un- ! wonted license held high carnival. The morning of tbe third day, whilst yet the ; deep white coverlet iay enveloping town, field i and forest, a broad clumsy footstep was printed l on the walk going and returning from the gate j to tbe door of tbe Old Tabby House. The mes- i senger tonched the knocker, but he did not I strike it. He tarried but a momenl, leaving a I parcel clasped beneath the grim head of tbe brazen knocker and the panel. Early in the morning a passing servant saw the parcel hang ing there, and carried it to his mistress. Folded in a soild and torn bit of newspaper, was a letter. The elder sister, Mary, into whose bands it ! came, opened and letter. It was ad dressed to Ether, and a shudder of surprise and j horror followed the reading of its contents. ‘Madam—Y'onhave Jived long enough in peace and quiet. When I saw you last, I resolved to trouble you no- more. But you have broken tbe truce be-Jween us. You have followed me, and hounded me by your meddlesome agents, and driven me out of the country where I had taken refuge. More than this. Y'our agent has robbed me, and left me a beggar. I am poor, and must live. I asa hungry and must eat. I cannot work, or will not, whilst there are those who can help me—those who are in my power, and shall feel my revenge, if I do not receive at least one hundred dollars by this time to-morrow. One hundred will do for my immediate wanfcs- But I was born a gentleman, and it will take at least five thousand a year to support rue de cently. Give me this, and I will trouble you no further. Refuse it, and I will brand yon with a stigma that not all the wealth of the Howards .an wipe atfay. To-morrow, by ten o’clock, I shall expect a reply at the Post Office, | with $100 enclosed addressed to Yours, Av.., Henry.’ It was at least foil tjf > that this terrible mis sive had fallen into o:«, r hands than those for whom it was immedbJGriy designed. But not a moment was to be ’/A messenger was dis- ttetiea at once io and that i-eniM obf’'* came hurryins through the deep ,,T-. y, wind running the gaunt let of a thousand bullets which peppered and powdered him until his clothing resembled a traveling snow bank. Shaking the snow from his dress, he entered the Old Tabby House, and was suon closted in piofoand consultation with its mistress. Indignation which barely kept inside the dec alogue by reason of a lady’s presence, filled the heart and lips of the good old physician. But indignation, profane or otherwise afforded no remedy for the case. What was he to do ? io yield to the demand, now by sending ihe smell sum, a-5 un earnest of the greater when ever the party chose to demand it, was only giv ing boundless license to the blackmailer- To refuse, was certainly to cause him to make good his threats. Henry Gaston was too desperate a man. to stop at any half-way measures. He knew bis advantage, and meant to avail himself of it. Dating him to do his worst, might have been good policy, if no delicate, shattered frame trembling even'now upon the verge of the abyss from which site had escaped as by a miracle, had been involved. Bat there was a fair yoaug flower, upon whose spring life the blow’ would fall with fatal power. The mystery of her father’s life had intruded itself upon her hours of lone liness and melancholy, and the traces of that secret sorrow were not unseen by those who tendely wacbed her. Appeals to him as a futlier and a husband weri- useless. He had broken all'vows, disregarded ail claims, and would be likely to rejoice and triumph in working even more of ruin than his wretched existence had already wrought. A score of plans occured to the fertile mind of the physician, but the bare statement of them was equivalent to their rejection. Nothing seemed to he feasible. Resistance was ruin, concession must end in ruin. Long and earnest were the count ils andjdelibi- rations of that eventful day, a d the night had fallen in-tore a conclusion was reached. A letter was written—an appeal to the miserable wretch to take pity upon the heart he had broken, and tbe young being w hose life was at his me«*cy. There was no thought of softening the vile oul- 1 cast by this letter. But the old physician vol- I unteered to undertake a mission which might, j or might not have a favorable result. ! The odds were agaiust accomplishing any- ! thing, but he braced ijimself with a favorite | quotation from Scripture, aud carried the letter j to the post-office with bis own hand. Before j the “general delivery” was opened in the morn- | ing, the Doctor was posted in ear-shot distance, ! hir ing notified the clerk of his intention. I It was nearly 10 o’clock before the letter was called for. A small hoy, of ragged and uncom fortable looks, w-as the agent of Gaston. The Doctor followed the boy leisurely thorugh sev eral streets, until he saw him place the leJter in the bauds of a man who needed no introduc tion to the physician. His unkempt head and beard, his bloodshot eyes, his haggard features, and the wild, desperate expression of his coun tenance, were enough. He .took the letter, opened aud read it- then crushed it in his bends aud walked away. The physician followed and traced him to a house in a quarter of the town frequented by tbe lowest and most depraved of its people. The Doctor lingered at a convenient I di da ice for some time, and, having called u po- I liceman who was making his beat near by, gave him a hurried message, and knocked at the door of the house. A colored woman answered the call. She said a strange gentleman had been stopping there for several days, but she did not know his name. But Gaston ovorhaard tbe enquiry, and cams to the head of the narrow stairway. ‘What do you want with me?’ he said in an angry tone. •I would like to have a few minutes conversa tion with you,’ replied the Doctor, in a winning voice. ‘You can have it, sir,’ was tbe reply; ‘walk this way.’ The Doctor ascended the stairs ond entered a dimly-lighted aud pooily-fumished room. ‘I am ready to hear you,’said Gaoton, motion ing his visitor to a chair. The Doctor sat down at a loss to know how to proceed. A lucky thought occurred to him. ‘If I am not mistaken, sir, you are a man who has seen much trouble, and are now in dis tress.’ ‘What if I am ? Does that concern you ?' ‘Yes; and every other man who has it in his power to save his fellow-man.’ T know of no way in which you can benefit ms, sir. I am not a beggar. I don’t want your charity. I am independent of all hypocrites and 1 Pharisees of every grade.’ ‘But what it 1 propose to help you by giving yon a chance to help yourself?’ ‘You mean to give me some work to dor I don’t want to work—I am not dependent upon my labor for support.’ ‘And yet you are this moment pennilesss, I dare say!’ ‘ You dare say! Well, suppose I am penni less, I need not, and will not stay so forty-eight hours longer’’ ‘May be not. Yet, it seems to me, that hon est employment, and comfortable wages—salary, it you like, would induce any man to listen, at least, to the proprietor.’ ‘Hart: you, whoever yett may be, for I have not the honor of your acquaintance, and know not your name, il indeed you have one—I do not need, and do not wish io hear any of your advice. If yon are a gentleman, you will un derstand that this room is entirely too small for two, and I wish to be alone. ’ The threatening gesture accompanying these words left no room for doubting the temper of the desperado, and the good doctor had no other alternative but a speedy exit. But one point was gained. He had photo graphed his man'; be could place detectives upon his track, and, perhaps .wine way would be opened out of this dark and puzzling prob lem. Speedily he returned to the Old’ Tabby House with the story of his mortifying failure. A long consultation followed, and was inter rupted by the sudden and violent jlangor of the antiquated knock. The doctor, desiring to know the possible cause of the alarm—for it was now long past the hour for visitors—opened the door, and the hoy’ who had borne the letter to GasS m in the morning placed a paper in his hand and retired without a word. Another letter addressed to 3thel. It was short,but there was’no ambiguity in its contents. ‘Madam. I am now writing the story of your shame. To-morrow morning at ten o'clock I shall send a messenger to the post office. If I get a letter enclosing $200 I shall not, at pres ent, make your story public. If the money does not come, at sunrise day after to-morrow, on the bulletin board at the post" office deer, the placard will be reisd by an appreciating pub lic. * Henry. The villnin was growing bolder, and more ex acting. The good physician racked his brain for hours before he iound a word of advice to tender in the case. At last, a lucky thought came to him —one in which he l»lt profound confidence—nay, he seemed well nigh trans ported with delight at the pros pent of its suc cess. The demand must be met. The money must be sent, then the results must be confided to his wisdom and prudence. He did not un fold his plan—perhaps it was yet only in out line, and would not be intelligible until more perfectly digested. The money package wan soon prepared, ihe bills carefully marked, and the marks copied into the doctor’s own diary. Then he departed, taking the receiving box cf ib.ct o&»ae oji his hr>vo«w»rdf r*>nte. The lamp burned steadily ail that night i-n the physician’s bed chamber. Moving to and fro, lying down, rising in hie- dressing-gown, sitting at his writing-desk, all the weary night the faithful friend was plodding over this new and difficult case, not wholly foreign to a pro fession who are often the guardians of fam ily peace as well as physical health. [to BE CONTING3D,] THE LOST CHILD -OE,- A THRILLING STORY OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. SY W. H. B. CHAPTER IX.—th3 home oe the sorceress. ‘What in the name of Heaven, is the matter,’ asked the trapper, as he came into camp, follow ed by Curtiss and the Indian, all nearly cut of breath from their rapid race. ‘Matter? Oh, my God !' and the poor woman flung herself into her husband’s arms fainting at once. It was some time before a lucid explanation could be obfcainad from any one; the conflicting statements of the diffdrent parties, each think ing himself right, added very much to the gen eral mystery. At length, however, Lowell hav ing recovered, and being able to cross-question, sitted the matter so as to obtain the information that both the woman and the teamsters had seen the wolf-woman from four different points, and the latter had fired at her, aod were satisfied that she had not escaped their bullets, from the finding of blood-marks upon the rock where they had last seen her. ‘Then why not hunt for her. and for—for the poor child?’ asked Lowell, but in sc low a tone as not to reach the ear of the mother. ‘Yer might as well hunt fer ther track of er swalier in ther air,’ replied the trapper, with al most a shudder. ‘Y’er mought have brought blood, but that’s erbout all yer ever kin do; and as for the child, we saw her fall yisterday from ther top of ther mounting, and ter-day yer say she was alive and all right.’ ‘Certainly, if I can believe my own eyes.’ ‘Wal, yer had better not set too much store on what yer see when that ar wolf-devil is erbout, fer ye’li only be fooled, and like as not come to grief.’ ‘I am going to follow her at all events, even if I have to go alone. She has been a good friend to me thus iar.’ ‘The moccasin of the pale-face,’ interrupted the Indian, speaking for the first time, ‘would hose itself upon the trail.’ T shall take the chances at any rate. Do you call yourselves men, and yei are afraid of a shad ow ?’ ‘I am a man aud haint erfenred of anything that ever walked er top of the earth; but this ar thing that kin leap from ther top of ther moun ting, and turn inter a wolf jest when it has er mind ter, don't suit me no-how.’ ‘Then I shall go alone—alone, as weak as I am.’ ‘I shall go with you,' answered Curtis, leav ing his now partially recovered wife, and pre paring to start.' ‘No sir, that would not be right. Your wife and the camp require all your care.’ ‘But yon must not go alona’ Wrtb the usual reticence of his race, Buffalo- Hoof arose, drew his belt tighter around him. looked well to his knife aud tomahawk, aud then pointed upwards. •Wal,’ said Fisher, somewhat ashomod of the position he had tsken—‘wal I’m ei goin’ too, devil, or no devil,’and he followed the exam ple of his Indian friend iu looking to the salety of his weapons, and then dashed ahead upon the trail. ‘Yes, I’m er going too, I dare go where any man dare, and ef we are ter have er skriii'mage with ther old one, three pairs of hands will be better nor one. ‘I trust to bring you glad tidings, madam,’ said Lowell, kindly, as he took his departure; and then he added to her husband — ‘Have no fear for us, if we do not return till the morrow. Once upon the trail, I shall not pause until I have rescued your little one. and solved the mystery of this poor, wandering woman.’ ‘God bless yon,’ was the tearful answer; ‘and yet you are not strong enough for such an un dertaking.’ ‘He will give me strength,’ and without wait- in:; to hear mors, he followed the Indian and trapper, who had disappeared upon the wind ing trail. Tbe first point to be gained was the spot where the Indian woman had last been seen. Thai reached, the blood-stains were easily' dis covered, and aster having satisfied himself that they led upwards, Lowell called the attention of his companions to the little cave. But it was with great difficulty that he eauld even get them to look within, and yet these men would have laughed at death -hod done so a thousand times when the odds were fearfully against them. Like thousands who should know better, they believed that Spirit.--freed from mortal laws with ease Assume what sexes »ad what sbapts they please. and that if they once ventured within the por tals ot that little cavern—a mere hollow carved out by the hand of nature in the rocky side of the mountains, they would behold their very fill ‘Of clanking i t 'its— low, mysterious groans— Blood crested .tuggers, and uiicoffiued bones, Bale, gliding ghixns, with .".lurera dropping gore And blue llames dancing round the dungeon door. or something that to them would be equally startling and horrible—a wolf-woman and her devilish pets. Nothing, consequently, hot the natural cour age, the bravery shown by Lowell, and the tear of being called coward, tempted them to look within; and yet the hardy trapper was the first ore to laugh long, loud and recklessly, when he saw how foolish his fears- had been. ‘Thar’s nothing here to be ai'eared on,’ he said after a careful survey of the interior, ‘and I’ve seen ther time that I’d have been mighty glad ofsich e» hiding-pine-^; haint yer Buff'aler-Huff?' The Indian replied only with a nod as he stooped to examine the floor more closely, and Fisher continued: ‘’Fliar ar no prints of the huffs here, and I reckon it mought have been ther den of some old mounting bar like myself. Leastwise, I don't think that half-beast-halt-squaw we ar er lookin' arter ever made her home here.’ Batisfii I with the good .oipiession thus pro duced, Lowell again returned to where the crimson blood had left its stain upon the rock, aod proceeded to follow. It was but a very short time that they had such a guide. Boon the rocky path was free of hues, except those imprinted there by nature; thus baffled, he turned to the Indian and asked him if he could discover anv footprints.’ ‘IIsr6 is the print of the moccasin,’ said Buf falo-Hoof, after a patient search. ‘Here it touch ed the moss—here it became unsteady like the foot of the bison, when it grows faint from the arrows of th“ hunter.’ ‘That ar er fact,’ replied the trapper, ‘and here she put down ther little one. I reckon she hadn’t strength ter carry it any further.’ ‘Thecatcher ol beaver is right; and here she sat down to rest, iI—i-e, too, she stripped the bark from the trees and moss from the rock to bind the wound,’ AH these things were wonderful to Lowell, for although his attention was called to the fact, and the particular places and indications point ed out, he could scarcely convince himself that any one could arrive atcertain conclusions from such dubious premises. He bad very much yet to learn of the power of the eye when train ed from the earliest infancy. ‘If you are certain about vvhat you sav,’ he re marked, there will be no difficulty in following tbe trail to the end.’ ‘Ther keenest-nosed bound that ever followed er deer will be at fault’ when he comes to run ning water,’ replied the trapper, ‘and I reckon onr’n will gin out in erbout ther same manner; but give us ther ghost of er sight, and we’ll find ther way ther sarpent went. Haint that so, Buf- faler ?’ The Indian either beard not. or was not dis posed to pay any attention to his words, for he held his way upward and onward. His eye was upon the trail, and bis heart was in the search. It was professional pride with him now. The doubts Lowell bad expressed, had nerved him ■as fully to the task as if he had been following t the trail of a wounded enemy, or the more doubtful oneof the swift-footed deer. But sud denly and unexpectedly all trace was lost, as the trapper had hinted. ‘Thar,’ he said, as Buffalo-Hoof paused and motioned the intelligence—‘thar, I told yer so, she has flew erway.’ •Pshaw !’ replied Lowell; ‘you have lost the trail, that’s all.’ ‘Then yer find it if yer kin,’ was the sullen re sponse, and Fisher sat obstinately down, as if determined to move no further. But not so the Indian. Tne superior intel lect, knowledge and dauntlessness of Lowell had made an impression on him, and the pride of his race (for the red man is ever unwilling to own that he has a peer cn his hunting grounds and iu his peculiar pursuits) rendered him un willing to confess defeat. Still he stood for a moment lost in thought. Then a smile lit ap his dark features, and kneeling, he began to turn over the loose stones, one by one, and with rhe most extreme caution, so as not to dis turb a morsel of earth or particle of moss. At length his patient search was rewarded, and looking up, be almost whispered : ‘The catcher of beaver has forgotten his cun liing. See!’ and he pointed to the slight im press of a moccasin. ‘Here she took up the pap- poose again.’ •Wal, that looks mere like er human than any thing I've seen berfore; - and with alt his doubts vanished, the trapper, as usual, was the first to act. But their hopes were only short-lived. They were all obliged to confess themselves baffled. All the skill and cunning of the Indian were of no avail. There was no ground to receive an impression—no loose stones to cover a footstep — no moss or lichen to be torn away—nothing but sterile rock Then, for the first time, the swarthy face of Buffalo-Hoof grew black with doubt, and that of Fisher was lighted up with a triumphant smile. •1 told yer jest bow it would be,’be exclaimed; I knew theer devilish footsteps would vanish after er leetle, and so they have. Wnat are yer er goin’ ter do now ?’ ‘I’m going to tbe point from which you say she either fell or jumped yesterday,’replied Lowell, sternly ‘But \o 11 find nothin’ thar.’ ‘Perhaps not, but I’m determined to see with my own eves.’ Wal, we’ll soon show yon who’s right,’ and expecting to be again triumphant, Fisher wil lingly led tbe way. By tbe ro,n«they travelled, the summit was much easier aud sooner reached than it had been » Continued on 6;h page. '* i t V