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Judith arose, hid her face in her apron, and wept. A long pause—one of more than two hours—succeeded, during which Warley entered and left the cabin several times; apparently uneasy when absent, and yet unable to remain. He issued various orders, which his men proceeded to execute; and there was an air of movement with the party, more especially as Mr. Craig, the lieutenant, had got through the unpleasant duty of burying the dead, and had sent for instructions from the shore, desiring to know what he was to do with his detachment. During this interval, Hetty slept a little, and Deerslayer and Chingachgook left the ark to confer together. But, at the end of the time mentioned, the surgeon passed upon the platform; and with a degree of feeling his comrades had never before observed in one of his habits, he announced that the patient was rapidly drawing near her end. On receiving this intelligence, the group collected again; curiosity to witness such a death—or a better feeling—drawing to the spot men who had so lately been actors in a scene seemingly of so much greater interest and moment. By this time Judith had got to be inactive, through grief; and Hist alone was performing the little offices of feminine attention that are so appropriate to the sick bed. Hetty herself had undergone no other apparent change, than the general failing that indicated the near approach of dissolution. All that she possessed of mind was as clear as ever; and, in some respects, her intellect, perhaps, was more than usually active.

“Don’t grieve for me so much, Judith,” said the gentle sufferer, after a pause in her remarks; “I shall soon see mother; I think I see her now; her face is just as sweet and smiling as it used to be! Perhaps when I’m dead, God will give me all my mind, and I shall become a more fitting companion for mother than I ever was before.”

“You will be an angel in heaven, Hetty,” sobbed the sister; “no spirit there will be more worthy of its holy residence!”

“I don’t understand it quite; still I know it must be all true; I’ve read it in the Bible. How dark it’s becoming! Can it be night so soon? I can hardly see you at all; where is Hist?”

“I here, poor girl; why, you no see me?”

“I do see you; but I couldn’t tell whether ‘twas you or Judith. I believe I sha’nt see you much longer, Hist.”

“Sorry for that, poor Hetty. Never mind; paleface got a heaven for girl as well as for warrior.”

“Where’s the Serpent? Let me speak to him; give me his hand; so; I feel it. Delaware, you will love and cherish this young Indian woman; I know how fond she is of you; and you must be fond of her. Don’t treat her as some people treat their wives; be a real husband to her. Now bring Deerslayer near me; give me his hand.”

This request was complied with, and the hunter stood by the side of the pallet, submitting to the wishes of the girl with the docility of a child.

“I feel, Deerslayer,” she resumed, “though I couldn’t tell why—but I feel that you and I are not going to part forever. ’Tis a strange feeling! I never had it before; I wonder what it comes from!”

“ ’Tis God encouraging you in extremity, Hetty; as such it ought to be harbored and respected. Yes, we shall meet ag’in, though it may be a long time first, and in a far distant land.”

“Do you mean to be buried in the lake too? If so, that may account for the feeling.”

“ ’Tis little likely, gal; ’tis little likely; but there’s a region for Christian souls where there’s no lakes nor woods, they say; though why there should be none of the last, is more than I can account for; seeing that pleasantness and peace is the object in view. My grave will be found in the forest, most likely, but I hope my spirit will not be far from your’n.”

“So it must be, then. I am too weak-minded to understand these things, but I feel that you and I will meet again. Sister, where are you? I can’t see now anything but darkness. It must be night, surely!”

“Oh! Hetty, I am here at your side;