y from
the circle of sleeping trappers, and took our way to the eminence from which I had viewed the farewell of day the evening pre vious. It was a splendid morning, and the air, clear, soft and balmy, was not stirred by a single zephyr. As we ascended the knoll and looked toward the east, we could barely perceive a faint blush indicating the rosy d iwn of day, while a soft, gray light spread sweetly over the scene, and the stars, growing less and less bright, gradually be gan to disappear from our view. Presently the blush of morn took a deeper hue, and gently expanding on either hand, blended beautiful ly with the deepening blue. Then golden flashes shot upward, growing bright er and brighter, till it seemed as if the world were on tire; while night, slowly receding, gradually revealed the lovely prairie to our enchanted gaze. Brighter, more golden, more beautiful grew the east, and brighter
o ' O
the light around us, until the stars had all become hidden, and objects far and near could be distinctly traced, standing out in soft relief from the green earth and the blue and golden sky.
'Magnificent!" I exclaimed, turning toward my friend, who was standing with his face to the east, his gaze fixed on high, appaiently lost in contemplation.
He did not reply, and repeating my ex clamation, I lightly touched him on the arm. He started suddenly, and turned to mt with an expression so absent, so vacant, that I felt a slight alarm, and instantly added :
' Huntly, are you ill?"
"111, Frank? No! no! not ill by any means," he replied. " Why do you ask?"
"You appeared so strangely."
"Indeed! Well, where think you were my thoughts?"
"How should I know?"
"True enough, and I will tell you. I was thinking of that fair being we rescued from the flames."
"And why of her now?"
"Not only now, Frank, but she fills my thoughts more than you are aware. Often do I see her in my dreams; and the mere resemblance of yonder sky to fire, vividly recalled to mind that never-to-be forgotten Bight when (irst I beheld her."
"Charley, you are in love."
' It may be," he answered with a sigh;
"but, alas! if so, I love one whom 1 shall never behold again; " and he dropped his head upon his .bosom in a musing mood.
"Nay, nay, old friend," I said gaily; "it will not do for you to be getting senti mentally love-sick, away out here upon the prairies. Who knows but some day she you are thinking of, may, in spite of your now doleful looks, become your wife!"
"Frank," said Huntly, in quick reply, with a look of reproach, " if you knew my feelings, you would not wound them, I am sure, by untimely jests."
"Good heavens! Charley," I exclaimed, in surprise, at once grasping his hand with a hearty pressure; "I wound your feel ings? Why such a thought never entered my head. I spoke jestingly, it is true; but I was not aware that the affair had become so serious. I was thinking at the time that one ailing youth in our camp was sufficient."
"To whom do you allude?"
"Myself."
"How so? I ws not aware that you were ailing, as you call it."
"Why, do you not know that I am in love, like yourself? "
"Heavens! not with her, Frank not with her?" cried my friend, grasping my arm nervously, and peering into my face with a searching glance.
"Ay, Charles, and I thought* you knew it. I acted wrongly, I know, and have deeply repented since."
"But then, you you love her still, Frank?"
"Devotedly, as God is my judge!" Huntly released my arm with a groan, and turned away his head.
"What is the meaning of this, Charles? '* I inquired, in a tone of alarm.
"Why did you not tell it me before?" he said, with a long, deep sigh.
"First, because it is a delicate subject, and I did not like to mention it. Second ly, because you have never before alluded to it yourself."
"True; but I did not dream it was so* God! why, then, did you not let me perish in the flames ?"
"Perish, Charles? how strangely you talk! Why should I have let you pensh? "
"To end my misery."
"Misery? You alarm me
