She noticed how longingly he watched her depart.

In the sweet modulations of her voice, Barclugh found repose as he lay on his bed,—weak and emaciated. His strength was not enough to allow him to converse at much length, so that after Mollie had read these classics to him, his heart throbbed with tender emotions and the words that left his lips when she had finished:

“I thank you, Miss Greydon,” had the pathos of a heart full of gratitude.

As he lay with mind so clear but his body so weak, he often dreamed to himself:

“Oh! if my God will only restore me to my full powers again, I shall live only to be worthy of the love of Mollie Greydon. She must be all that is worth living for,—beauty, grace and loving kindness.”

Each day as Mollie brought the fresh flowers to the sick-room, and on each occasion that she read to the sick, she noticed how longingly he watched her depart, and how he beamed with joy whenever she entered his sick-chamber to read some well-chosen classic.

In the course of a week, Roderick Barclugh began to recover his appetite, and at the end of two weeks, he was strong enough to ride out in the carriage with Mollie and the Doctor.

The three would drive in the morning and in the latter part of the afternoon as far as Germantown, and along the banks of the Delaware.

These drives greatly benefited Barclugh’s health; he had also a most excellent opportunity to get acquainted with the one who was the desire of his heart.

One day as they drove toward Philadelphia they met Segwuna. Nothing would satisfy Mollie unless she rode with them.

Mollie made room for her on the seat in the carriage that faced Dr. Greydon and Mr. Barclugh.

“Don’t you think that our patient looks much improved, Segwuna?” queried Dr. Greydon, good-naturedly, as the carriage rolled along the highway.

“Yes, Dr. Greydon,” answered Segwuna, uncomfortably, as she sat looking vacantly into the carriage top.

The others attempted to be gay, but Segwuna’s presence cast a gloom over the ride; she neither smiled nor talked except in monosyllables.

“Have you learned anything of importance to-day in the city, about our affairs of war, Segwuna?” cheerily asked Mollie, turning to the Indian maiden with her happiest smile.

“Nothing, Miss Greydon, except what traitors would be interested in,” spoke out Segwuna, sternly.

At the mention of the word “traitor,” Segwuna looked straight at Roderick Barclugh, and she noticed a twitching of his lips and a visible blush mounting his neck and ears.

To allay any possible attention to himself, Barclugh now entered into lively conversation with Dr. Greydon and Miss Mollie, and utterly ignored Segwuna, who sat stolidly in a brown study during the rest of the carriage ride.

“Dr. Greydon,” began Barclugh spiritedly, “I am much interested in the agriculture of the Colonies. There seems to be a wonderful fertility to the soil, for a settler can go upon land with no capital but his hands and a yoke of oxen, and inside of a year have a comfortable plantation established. How can it be done? I do not understand it.”

“The soil is rich in the first place,” replied Dr. Greydon; “then our American products of Indian corn and potatoes provide abundance for man and animals, so that there is no difficulty in subsistence. The natural meadow and the grasses of the woods provide for sleek cattle and horses; then the abundance of wild pigeons, ducks, and turkeys and the fish of the rivers and lakes also provide food; the hides of the deer, bear, coons and squirrel provide raiment and robes. There is no reason for man to suffer in this wonderfully prosperous country, if he be industrious,” argued Dr. Greydon, with much satisfaction to himself, but evidently to the discomfiture of Barclugh, for he remarked:

“This is all so strange to me. I cannot understand how the settlements start up like mushrooms in the wilderness.”

“It is the promise of the Great Spirit,” contributed Segwuna. “But our soil must be forever free from the tyranny of kings and potentates, or the corn would not grow and the potatoes would wither and a famine would devastate the land.”

“Segwuna is our prophetess, Mr. Barclugh,” declared Mollie, exultingly, “and we all love her dearly,” continued Mollie, as she turned to Segwuna, and putting her arms around her neck, kissed her.

Barclugh did not relish the affection that Mollie showed for Segwuna, so he remarked emphatically:

“We cannot rely on superstition, Miss Greydon.”

The latent fire of the Indian character gleamed in Segwuna’s eyes, and she longed in her heart to wither Roderick Barclugh, but the time was not ripe. Segwuna simply kept silent and abided her time.

After the carriage had arrived at Dorminghurst, Dr. Greydon and Barclugh sat upon the portico and conversed upon sundry subjects while Mollie and Segwuna strolled off together toward Segwuna’s lodge, Mollie remarked:

“Something has made you unhappy, Segwuna. What has happened to you?”

“Oh, nothing, my sweetheart. Your Segwuna’s heart bleeds for her country’s welfare, and I can see that something is to happen during the next moon that will make us all unhappy; but your Segwuna can not tell her sweetheart now. It might make me wish that I had not spoken about it, if it should not happen.

“I wish that my dearest one would excuse Segwuna and let her go to her lodge, and pray to her Manitou to clear her sky and bring happiness to her spirit, for her heart is very sad to-day,—very sad to-day,” repeated Segwuna.

“Yes, yes, my loved one,” replied Mollie. “Your Mollie loves you and knows how pure and noble her Segwuna is. Good night, dearest. Good night,” were the parting words of Mollie Greydon, as she kissed Segwuna, and left her to return to the mansion.

While the two were strolling on the winding path, Roderick Barclugh and Dr. Greydon sat on the portico and conversed freely. Barclugh resolved to confess the longings of his heart before his departure, as he knew that he must soon leave Dorminghurst.

He opened the difficult subject by saying:

“Dr. Greydon, I have now been a guest at your house for two weeks, and under trying circumstances to your household. I feel that I owe my life to your tender care and solicitation. My father could do no more for me; but I hope that you will not consider I am presuming on your good nature, when I unfold to you an affair of my heart; and ask of you one of the greatest favors that one man can bestow upon another.

“Dr. Greydon,” continued Barclugh, “ever since I first met your daughter, I have esteemed her as one of the most talented and beautiful women in this country, and since I first was a guest in your home, I have learned to love her; I ask you to give her to me for my wife. My position and means and prospects warrant me in making this request and I hope that I may deserve the great honor that I ask you to confer upon me.”

After a moment of silent reflection, Dr. Greydon replied most reverently and in the peculiar language of his Quaker persuasion, which he used only on occasions of great emotion:

“Thou hast been good enough for me to invite thee to my home. If I had not thought thee good enough to be my son, thou shouldst not have been my guest; but my daughter must give thee her own consent before thou canst have mine.”

At the conclusion of these solemn injunctions, Barclugh arose, silently shook the hand of Dr. Greydon and retired to his bed-chamber for meditation.