All her favorite walks had been shared with Stanhope; there was scarcely a tree which had not sheltered them; and every gushing stream, and forest dell, even the simplest flower which spread its petals to the sun, breathed in mute eloquence some tale of innocent enjoyment.

These scenes, which his presence had consecrated, where, in the freshness of dewy morn, at noontide's sultry hour, and beneath the still and moonlight heavens, she had admired, with him, the loveliness of nature, were now retraced, with the enthusiasm of a fond and devoted heart.
Such feelings and reminiscences had, one day, drawn her into the green recesses of a forest, which stretched along the river, at some distance above the fort.

The familiar and oft-frequented path, wound through its deepest shades, beneath a canopy of lofty pines, whose thickly woven branches created a perpetual twilight.

She at length struck into a diverging track, and crossing a sunny slope, bared by the laborious settler for future improvement, reached a steep bank, which declined gently to the water's edge.

It was one of those cheering days in early autumn, which sometimes burst upon us with the warmth and brilliancy of summer, and seem, for a brief space, to reanimate the torpid energies of nature.