mselves without
further delay. A basin of warm water and a sponge were procured from
the guard-room of Ensign Fortescue, who now joined them, and with these
Captain Blessington proceeded to remove the disguise.

In the course of this lavation, it was discovered the extraordinary
flow of blood and brains had been produced by the infliction of a deep
wound on the back of the head, by the sharp and ponderous tomahawk of
an Indian. It was the only blow that had been given; and the
circumstance of the deceased having been found lying on his face,
accounted for the quantity of gore, that, trickling downwards, had so
completely disguised every feature. As the coat of thick encrusted
matter gave way beneath the frequent application of the moistening
sponge, the pallid hue of the countenance denoted the murdered man to
be a white. All doubt, however, was soon at an end. The ammunition
shoes, the grey trowsers, the coarse linen, and the stiff leathern
stock encircling the neck, attested the sufferer to be a soldier of the
garrison; but it was not until the face had been completely denuded of
its unsightly covering, and every feature fully exposed, that that
soldier was at length recognised to be Harry Donellan, the trusty and
attached servant of Captain de Haldimar.

While yet the officers stood apart, gazing at the corpse, and forming a
variety of conjectures, as vague as they were unsatisfactory, in regard
to their new mystery, Sir Everard Valletort, pale and breathless with
the speed he had used, suddenly appeared among them.

"God of heaven! can it be true--and is it really not De Haldimar whom I
have shot?" wildly asked the agitated young man. "Who is this,
Erskine?" he continued, glancing at the litter. "Explain, for pity's
sake, and quickly."

"Compose yourself, my dear Valletort," replied the officer addressed.
"You see this is not De Haldimar, but his servant Donellan. Neither has
the latter met his death from your rifle; there is no mark of a bullet
about him. It was an Indian tomahawk that did his business; and I will
stake my head against a hickory nut the blow came from the same rascal
at whom you fired, and who gave back the shot and the scalp halloo."

This opinion was unanimously expressed by the remainder of the
officers. Sir Everard was almost as much overpowered by his joy, as he
had previously been overwhelmed by his despair, and he grasped and
shook the hand of Captain Erskine, who had thus been the mean