yself, of the plan, we halted at the
bridge, and disposed of our men under each extremity; so that, if
attacked by the Indians in front, we might be enabled to throw them
into confusion by taking them in rear, as they flung themselves upon
the bridge. The event seemed to answer our expectations. The alarm
raised in the encampment satisfied us the young Indian had contrived to
fulfil his promise; and we momentarily looked for the appearance of
those whose flight we naturally supposed would be directed towards the
bridge. To our great surprise, however, we remarked that the sounds of
pursuit, instead of approaching us, seemed to take an opposite
direction, apparently towards the point whence we had seen the
prisoners disembarked in the morning. At length, when almost tempted to
regret we had not pushed boldly on, in conformity with our first
intention, we heard the shrill cries of a woman; and, not long
afterwards, the sounds of human feet rushing down the slope. What our
sensations were, you may imagine; for we all believed it to be either
Clara or Madeline de Haldimar fleeing alone, and pursued by our
ferocious enemies. To show ourselves would, we were sensible, be to
ensure the death of the pursued, before we could possibly come up; and,
although it was with difficulty we repressed the desire to rush forward
to the rescue, our better judgment prevailed. Finally we saw you
approach, followed closely by what appeared to be a mere boy of an
Indian, and, at a considerable distance, by the tall warrior of the
Fleur de lis. We imagined there was time enough for you to gain the
bridge; and finding your more formidable pursuer was only accompanied
by the youth already alluded to, conceived at that moment the design of
making him our prisoner. Still there were half a dozen muskets ready to
be levelled on him should he approach too near to his fugitives, or
manifest any other design than that of simply recapturing them. How
well our plan succeeded you are aware; but, alas!" and he glanced
sorrowfully at the corpse, "why was our success to be embittered by so
great a sacrifice?"

"Ah, would to Heaven that he at least had been spared," sighed Sir
Everard, as he took the wan white hand of his friend in his own; "and
yet I know not: he looks so calm, so happy in death, it is almost
selfish to repine he has escaped the horrors that still await us in
this dreadful warfare. But what of Frederick and Madeline de Haldimar?
From the stat