"No, no, clear-vere you burn-a my troat, eh!" Billy hitched up his shoulder, and turned his eyes askance at the ladies, with a broad grin on his face, as he answered

"I guess 'tis a sugar-bush that the Mounsheer means; but you musn't take that to heart, man ; 'tis the law of the woods."

"Ah! coquin, I pardonne you," returned the Frenchman, placing his hand involuntarily on his throat-" diable! de law should be altair. Mais, I 'ave sucre-boosh in Martinique: I fly dere too ;I come ici ;-votre père help-a-me ;-I grow reech -yais! I grow reech; mais I 'ave not France !L'Assemblée Nationale pass von edict"

"What's that?" interrupted Billy, who was endeavouring, with much interest, to comprehend the story.

"Eh! vat dat? vy vat you call, ven de Assemblée d' Alban' mak-a de law?"

"That's an act of the Legyslatoore," said Kirby, with the readiness of an American on such a subject.

"Vell! dis vas act of Legyslatoore, to restorer my land; my charactair; my sucre-boosh; and ma country. Ah! Ma'mselle Templ', je suis enchantié! mais I 'ave grief to leav-a you; Oh! yais! I 'ave grief ver mooch."

The amount of all this was, that Mr. Le Quoi, who had fled from his own country more through terror than because he was offensive to the ruling powers in France, had succeeded at length in getting an assurance, that his return to the West-Indies would be unnoticed; and the Frenchman, who had sunk into the character of a country shop-keeper, with so much grace, was about to emerge again from his obscurity into his proper level in society.

We need not repeat the civil things that passed between the parties on this occasion, nor recount the endless repetitions of sorrow that the delighted Frenchman expressed, at being compelled to quit the society of Miss Temple. Elizabeth took an opportunity, during this expenditure of polite expressions, to purchase the powder privately of the boy, who bore the generic appellation of Jonathan. Before they parted, however, Mr. Le Quoi, who seemed to think that he had not said enough, solicited the honour of a private interview with the heiress, with a gravity in his air that announced the importance of the subject. After conceding the favour, and appointing a more favourable time for the meeting, Elizabeth succeeded in getting out of the store, into which the countrymen now began to enter, as usual, where they met with the same attention and bienséance as formerly.

Elizabeth and Louisa pursued their walk as far as the bridge in profound silence, but when they reached that place, the latter stopped, and appeared anxious to utter something that her feelings suppressed.

"Are you ill, Louisa ?" exclaimed Miss Temple; "had we not better return, and seek another opportunity to meet the old man

Not ill, but terrified. Oh! I never, never can go on that hill again with you only. I am not equal to it, indeed I am not."

This was an unexpected declaration to Eliza beth, who, although she experienced no idle apprehensions of a danger that no longer existed, felt most sensitively all the delicacies of maiden modesty. She stood for some time, deeply reflecting within herself, the colour gradually gathering over her features at her own thoughts; but, as if sensible that it was a time for action instead of re

flection, she struggled to shake off her hesitation, and replied firmly

"Well, then it must be done by me, and alone. There is no other than yourself to be trusted, or poor old Leather-stocking will be discovered. Wait for me in the edge of these woods, that at least I may not be seen strolling in the hills by myself just now. One would not wish to create remarks, Louisa-if-if-You will wait for me, dear girl?"

"A year, in sight of the village, Miss Temple," returned the agitated Louisa, "but do not, do not ask me to go on that hill."

Elizabeth found that her companion was really unable to proceed, and they completed their arrangement by posting Louisa out of the observation of the people who occasionally passed, but nigh to the road, and in plain view of the whole valley. Miss Temple then proceeded alone. She ascended the road which has been so often mentioned in our narrative, with an elastic and firm step, fearful that the delay in the store of Mr. Le Quoi, and the time necessary for reaching the summit, would prevent her being punctual to the appointment. Whenever she passed an opening in the bushes, she would pause for breath, or, perhaps, drawn from her pursuits by the picture at her feet, would linger a moment to gaze at the beauties of the valley. The long drought had, however, changed its coat of verdure to a hue of brown, and, though the same localities were there, the view wanted the lively and cheering aspect of early summer. Even the heavens seemed to share in the dried appearance of the earth, for the sun was concealed by a haziness in the atmosphere, which looked like a thin smoke without a particle of moisture, if such a thing were possible. The blue

sky was scarcely to be seen, though now and then there was a faint lighting up in spots, through which masses of rolling vapour could be discerned gathering around the horizon, as if nature were struggling to collect her floods for the relief of man. The very atmosphere that Elizabeth inhaled was hot and dry, and by the time she reached the point where the course led her from the highway, she experienced a sensation like suffocation. But, disregarding her feelings, the heiress hastened to execute her mission, dwelling in her thoughts on nothing but the disappointment, and even the helplessness, the hunter would experience, without her aid.

On the summit of the mountain which Judge Temple had named the " Vision," a little spot had been cleared, in order that a better view might be obtained of the village and the valley. It was at this point that Elizabeth understood the hunter she was to meet him; and thither she urged her way, as expeditiously as the difficulty of the ascent and the impediments of a forest in a state of nature would admit. Numberless were the fragments of rocks, trunks of fallen trees, and branches, that she had to contend against; but every difficulty vanished before her resolution, and, by her own watch, she stood on the desired spot several minutes before the appointed hour.

After resting a moment on the end of a log, Miss Temple cast a scrutinizing glance about her in quest of her old friend, but he was evidently not in the clearing; when she arose and walked around its skirts, examining every place where she thought it probable Natty might deem it prudent to conceal himself. Her search was fruitless; and, after exhausting not only herself, but her thoughts, in efforts to discover or imagine his situation,

she ventured to trust her voice in that solitary place.

"Natty! Leather-stocking! old man!" she called aloud, in every direction; but no answer was given, excepting the reverberations of her own clear tones, as they were echoed in the parched forest.

While calling, Elizabeth gradually approached the brow of the mountain, where a faint cry, like the noise produced by striking the hand against the mouth, at the same time that the breath is strongly exhaled, was heard, answering to her own voice. Not doubting in the least, that it was the Leatherstocking lying in wait for her, and who gave that signal to indicate the place where he was to be found, Elizabeth descended for near a hundred feet, until she gained a little natural terrace, thinly scattered with trees, that grew in the fissures of the rocks, which were covered by a scanty soil. She had advanced to the edge of this platform, and was gazing over the perpendicular precipice that formed its face, when a rustling among the dry leaves near her drew her eyes in another direction. Miss Temple certainly was startled by the object that she then saw, but a moment restored her self-possession, and she advanced firmly, and with some interest in her manner, to the spot.

On the trunk of a fallen oak Mohegan was seated, with his tawny visage turned towards her, and his glaring eyes fixed on her face with an expression of wildness and fire, that would have terrified a less resolute female. His blanket had fallen from his shoulders, and was lying in folds around him, leaving his breast, arms, and most of his body bare. The medallion of Washington reposed on his chest, a badge of distinction that Elizabeth well knew he