Chapter 30

Oh! let me only breathe the air,
The blessed air that's breath'd by thee;
And, whether on its wings it bear
Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me!
MOORE.

Pathfinder was accustomed to solitude; but, when the _Scud_ had
actually disappeared, he was almost overcome with a sense of his
loneliness. Never before had he been conscious of his isolated
condition in the world; for his feelings had gradually been
accustoming themselves to the blandishments and wants of social
life; particularly as the last were connected with the domestic
affections. Now, all had vanished, as it might be, in one moment;
and he was left equally without companions and without hope. Even
Chingachgook had left him, though it was but temporarily; still his
presence was missed at the precise instant which might be termed
the most critical in our hero's life.

Pathfinder stood leaning on his rifle, in the attitude described
in the last chapter, a long time after the _Scud_ had disappeared.
The rigidity of his limbs seemed permanent; and none but a man
accustomed to put his muscles to the severest proof could have
maintained that posture, with its marble-like inflexibility, for so
great a length of time. At length he moved away from the spot; the
motion of the body being preceded by a sigh that seemed to heave
up from the very depths of his bosom.

It was a peculiarity of this extraordinary being that his senses
and his limbs, for all practical purposes, were never at fault, let
the mind be preoccupied with other interests as much as it might.
On the present occasion neither of these great auxiliaries failed
him; but, though his thoughts were exclusively occupied with Mabel,
her beauty, her preference of Jasper, her tears, and her departure,
he moved in a direct line to the spot where June still remained,
which was the grave of her husband. The conversation that followed
passed in the language of the Tuscaroras, which Pathfinder spoke
fluently; but, as that tongue is understood only by the extremely
learned, we shall translate it freely into the English; preserving,
as far as possible, the tone of thought of each interlocutor, as
well as the peculiarities of manner. June had suffered her hair
to fall about her face, had taken a seat on a stone which had been
dug from the excavation made by the grave, and was hanging over
the spot which contained the body of Arrowhead, unconscious of
the presence of any other. She believed, indeed, that all had left
the island but herself, and the tread of the guide's moccasined
foot was too noiseless rudely to undeceive her.

Pathfinder stood gazing at the woman for several minutes in mute
attention. The contemplation of her grief, the recollection
of her irreparable