a sweet valley, close under the
castle; and we were all so happy." She paused, again put her hand to
her brow, and pressed it with force, as if endeavouring to pursue the
chain of connection in her memory, but evidently without success.

"And your father's name was Clayton?" said the warrior, enquiringly;
"Henry Clayton, if I recollect aright?"

"Ha! who names my father?" shrieked the wretched woman. "Yes, sir, it
was Clayton--Henry Clayton--the kindest, the noblest of human beings.
But the affliction of his child, and the persecutions of the Morton
family, broke his heart. He is dead, sir, and Reginald is dead too; and
I am a poor lone widow in the world, and have no one to love me." Here
the tears coursed each other rapidly down her faded cheek, although her
eyes were staring and motionless.

"It is false!" vociferated the warrior, who, now he had gained all that
was essential to the elucidation of his doubts, quitted the shoulder he
had continued to press with violence in his nervous hand, and once more
extended himself at his length; "in me you behold the uncle of your
husband. Yes, Ellen Clayton, you have been the wife of two Reginald
Mortons. Both," he pursued with unutterable bitterness, while he again
started up and shook his tomahawk menacingly in the direction of the
fort,--"both have been the victims of yon cold-blooded governor; but
the hour of our reckoning is at hand. Ellen," he fiercely added, "do
you recollect the curse you pronounced on the family of that haughty
man, when he slaughtered your Reginald. By Heaven! it shall be
fulfilled; but first shall the love I have so long borne the mother be
transferred to the child."

Again he sought to encircle the waist of her whom, in the strong
excitement of his rage, he had momentarily quitted; but the unutterable
disgust and horror produced in the mind of the unhappy Clara lent an
almost supernatural activity to her despair. She dexterously eluded his
grasp, gained her feet, and with tottering steps and outstretched arms
darted through the opening of the tent, and piteously exclaiming, "Save
me! oh, for God's sake, save me!" sank exhausted, and apparently
lifeless, on the chest of the prisoner without.

To such of our readers as, deceived by the romantic nature of the
attachment stated to have been originally entertained by Sir Everard
Valletort for the unseen sister of his friend, have been led to expect
a tale abounding in manifestations of its progress