that was the craving of a spirit disquieted and restless from the
secret though ever-present conviction that she had sinned in departing
from the living God. By degrees these impressions deepened; the Spirit
of grace was at work within, and day after day was bringing to her
memory the truths she had heard in childhood and was leading her back
from her wanderings by a way which she knew not. A long conversation
followed; and that night saw the young couple kneeling for the first
time in prayer at domestic worship.

The morning that witnessed the departure of the hunters was one of
surpassing beauty. No cloud was to be seen upon the brow of William
Sullivan. The bright beams of the early sun seemed to have dissipated
the fears which had haunted him on the previous evening, and it
required an earnest entreaty on the part of his wife to prevent his
removing the feather from his cap. She held his hand while she
whispered in his ear, and a slight quiver agitated his lips as he
said, "Well, Mary dear, if you really think this feather will protect
me from the redskins, for your sake I will let it remain." William
then put on his cap, shouldered his rifle, and the hunters were soon
on their way seeking for game.

The day wore away as is usual with people on such excursions. Many
animals were killed, and at night the hunters took shelter in the cave
of a bear, which one of the party was fortunate enough to shoot, as he
came at sunset toward the bank of the river. His flesh furnished them
with some excellent steaks for supper, and his skin spread upon a bed
of leaves pillowed their heads through a long November night.

With the first dawn of morning, the hunters left their rude shelter
and resumed the chase. William, in consequence of following a fawn too