Now my wife was one of those quiet, nocturnal women, who never talk after they have laid their heads on the pillow, but compose themselves for the embraces of Morpheus. On this night, however, it happened that the events of the day, and particularly the dreadful danger we had escaped, took wakeful possession of her serene faculties, and she was wonderfully disposed to be conversational; whereas, I had much to think of, and was not inclined to be communicative. There was, however, one short question which she put to me, that I could not but answer.

“What,” said she, “can my uncle mean by bringing us to these forlorn and wilderness parts? His wife, my aunt, cannot dive into his intents; and yet it is a moral certainty, that he would never have been at the expense of this voyage of discovery, had he not a makingof- money purpose in view.”

The only answer I could give, was what I gave: I acknowledged myself of her opinion, adding, “But as he has made no explanation of his intents, I am not in a condition to satisfy your curiosity; no doubt I, however, shall, for you and Charles, with Mrs. Hoskins, are to go by one of the teams to-morrow homeward by Olympus, whilst the old gentleman and I thread back the mazes of the wood.”

“You may do, Lawrie Todd, as you think fit; but from this house I will never stir, until I know the meaning of such mystical meanderings,” was her reply.

I reasoned with her against this unreasonableness, and spoke soft and persuasive language, doing every thing I could besides to subdue her to that moderation and common sense which were the graces of her character; but she was not to be so converted—so I turned my face to the other side of the bed, and gave no farther heed to her colloquies.