hopes regarding her, and to bid her forget me; the very last thing I did was to cry over a kind, cheerful letter, which had followed me all the way from Inverness, and in which she urged me to keep up my heart, for that all would yet be well with us. Little did she know, when writing it, what I was on the eve of becoming—a poor vagabond fur-gatherer on the wild shores of Hudson's Bay. Dear, generous girl! I trust she is happy."

"May I ask," said the manager, who, unknown to the two fur-gatherers, had lain awake for some time, listening to the narrative—"may I ask if you are not Innes Cameron, late of Inverness, only surviving son of Colin Cameron of Glendocharty, and nephew of the lately deceased Malachi Cameron, of Upper Thames Street, London?"

"I am that Innes Cameron," said the fur-gatherer; "and so my poor old uncle is dead?"

"And having died intestate," continued the manager, "you, as heir-at-law, succeed to his entire estate, personal and real, consisting of a property of a few hundred acres in the vicinity of Inverness, and twenty thousand pounds vested in the three per cents. A considerable remittance from London has been waiting you for the last month at the Hawk River Settlement, and, what you will deem very handsome in the circumstances, a free discharge from the company for your five remaining years' servitude. I am acting manager at the River, and to my care the whole has been committed."

Innes seemed astounded by the intelligence; his gayer companion leaped up and performed a somerset on the floor.

"Innes, Innes, Innes!" he exclaimed, "why are ye no dancin?—why are ye no dancin? Did I no ken ye were born to be a gentleman? I maun hae a double glass to drink luck to ye; and I'm sure the manager winna say no. Goodness, man, it's the best news I hae heard in America yet!"

Morning at length broke—a calm, clear morning, for the clouds had passed away with the storm—and the travellers, after sharing in an ample, though not very delicate, repast, prepared to set out on their journey. The dogs were harnessed, and the car laden. The manager, who, from the fatigue and exhaustion of the previous night, still felt indisposed, was mounted in front; the two fur-gatherers were lacing on their snow-shoes to follow on foot. At length the sun rose far to the south, through a deep frosty haze, that seemed to swaddle the horizon with a broad belt of russet, and the travellers set out in the direction of a distant promontory of the lake. The snow all around, the woods that rose thick over the level, the overhanging banks of the lake, the hills in the far distance, were all bathed in one rich glow of crimson, that more than emulated the blush of a summer's evening at sunset; the shadows of the travellers, as they stretched for many fathoms across the lake, had each a moon-like halo round the head, like the glory in an old painting; and the very air, laden with frost rime, sparkled to the sun, like the gold water of the chemist. The scene was altogether strangely, I had almost said unnaturally, beautiful; it was one of those which, once seen, are never forgotten.

"You have been silent, Innes," said Sandy, "for the last half-hour, and look as wae and anxious as if some terrible mishanter had befallen ye. I'll wad the best quid in my spleuchan, ye hae been thinkin about Catherine Roberts, and o' your chance o' findin her single. I'd advise ye, man, just for fear o' a disappointment, to marry the manager's sister: she's ane o' the best, bonny lassies I ever saw, and plays strathspeys and pibrochs like an angel. Oh, had ye but heard her at 'Lochaber no more,' and the 'Flowers o' the Forest,' ye wad hae grat like a bairn, as I did. Dear me, but she's a fine lassie! Had I as mony thousands as ye hae, Innes, I wad marry her mysel."

"How came you to hear her music?" asked Innes, in a tone that showed he took but little interest in the query.

"Ah, there's a story belongs to that question," replied Sandy. "It's about a month or twa mair nor a twelvemonth noo, sin Tam M'Intyre and I set out frae Racoon Settlement, on ane o' the weariest and maist desperate journeys I have yet taen in America. About Christmas, a huntsman, in passing the settlement, tauld us there was to be a grand ball on New-year's Day at the Hawk River, and that there were to be four Scotch lassies at it, who had come owre the simmer afore, forbye a bonnie young leddie, the manager's sister. The River, ye ken, is no mickle aboon twa hundred miles frae Racoon Settlement, and Tam M'Intyre and I, who for five years hadna seen a living creature liker a woman than an Indian squaw, resolved on going to the ball, to see the lassies. We yoked our sledges on a snell frosty morning, set out across the great lake, and reached the log-house at Bear's Point about dark. We got up a rousin fire, and drunk maybe a glass or twa extra owre our cracks about Scotland and the lassies; but I'll tak my aith on't there was neither o' us meikle the waur. But, however it happened, about midnight we baith awakened mair nor half scomfisht, and there was the roof in a bright lowe aboon our heads. M'Intyre singed a' his whiskers and eebrees in getting out; I was luckier, and escaped wi' the loss only o' my blanket and our twa days' provisions. But we just couldna help it; and, yokin our dogs by the light o' the burnin, aff we set, weel aware that we wad baith miss our breakfasts or we reached the Hawk River. We travelled a' that day and a' the next nicht, the dogs hearty and strong, puir brutes, for we had been lucky aneugh to get the hinder half o' a black fox in a trap—the other half had been eaten by the wolves; but oursels, Innes, were like to famish. When mornin came, we were within thirty miles o' the Hawk River. There was little wind, but the frost burned like het iron. I dinna remember a sneller morning. M'Intyre had to thaw his nose three times, and my chin and ears had twice got as hard as bits o' stockfish. We had rubbed off a' the skin in trying to mak the blood circulate, and baith our faces had so swelled out o' the size, and shape, and colour o' humanity, that, when we reached the settlement, we were fain to steal into an outside hut, just that the lassies mightna see us. Man, but it was a sair begeck! The ball night came, and we were still uglier than ever, and I thought I wad hae gane daft wi' vexation. We could hear the noise o' the fiddles, and the dancin—and that was just a'. M'Intyre had some thoughts o' hangin himsel oot o' spite. Just when we were at the warst, however, a genteel tap comes to the door; and there there was a smart bonny lassie wi' a message to us frae her mistress, the manager's sister. We were asked down, she said; her mistress, hearing o' our misluck, and that we had baith come frae the north country, had got up a snug little supper for us, where there would be none to ferlie at us, and was noo waitin our comin. Was this no kind, Innes? I made a veil o' my plaid as I best could, M'Intyre muffled himself up in a napkin, and aff we went to the manager's. But, oh man! sic kindness frae sae sweet a leddy! She sang and played till us—and weel did it set her to do baith; and mixed up our toddy for us—for we were gey blate, as ye may think; and, on takin our leave, she shook hands wi' us as gin we had been her equals. I've never been fule aneugh to be in love, Innes—beggin your pardon for sayin sae—but I feel I could lay down my life for that bonny lassie ony day. Weel, but kindliness is a kindly thing!"

"What is the young lady's name?" inquired Innes, with some eagerness, as a sudden thought came across him. "Her brother, I think, calls her Catherine."

"Ah, no your Catherine, though," said Sandy; "the manager's name is Pringle, ye ken, and that's no Roberts."

"I am a fool," replied Innes, with a sigh; "and you see it, Sandy."

The track pursued by the party, which had hitherto lain along the edge of the lake, now ascended the steep wooded bank which hung over it, and, after winding for several miles through a series of shaggy thickets, with here and there an intervening