“I can readily believe Nick might recognise Bob’s trail, Hugh”—­ expostulated Mrs. Willoughby.  “He has a foot in a thousand—­you may remember how every one was accustomed to speak of his beautiful foot, even when he was a boy.  As a man, I think it still more remarkable.”

“Ay, go on, Nick, in this way, and my wife will believe all you say.  There is no distrust in a mother’s partiality, certainly.  You are an old courtier, and would make your way at St. James’s.”

“Major nebber tell about foot?” asked Nick, earnestly.

“I remember nothing; and had he spoken of any such thing, I must have heard it.  But, never mind the story, now; you saw the foot-print, and knew it for my son’s.  Did you ask to be admitted to his prison? or was your intercourse secret?”

“Wyandotte too wise to act like squaw, or boy.  See him, widout look.  Talk, widout speak—­hear, widout ear.  Major write letter, Nick take him.  All done by eye and hand; not’in’ done by tongue, or at Council Fire.  Mohawk blind like owl!”

“May I believe you, Tuscarora; or, incited by demons, do you come to deceive me?”

“Ole warrior look two time before he go; t’ink ten time before he say, yes.  All good.  Nick no affronted.  Do so himself, and t’ink it right.  Cap’in may believe all Nick say.”

“Father!” cried Maud, with simple energy, “I will answer for the Indian’s honesty.  He has guided Robert so often, and been with him in so many trying scenes, he never can have the heart to betray him, or us.  Trust him, then he may be of infinite service.”

Even captain Willoughby, little disposed as he was to judge Nick favourably, was struck with the gleam of mamy kindness that shot across the dark face of the Indian, as he gazed at the glowing cheek and illuminated countenance of the ardent and beautiful girl.

“Nick seems disposed to make a truce with you, at least, Maud,” he said, smiling, “and I shall now know where to look for a mediator, whenever any trouble arises between us.”

“I have known Wyandotte, dear sir, from childhood, and he has ever been my friend.  He promised me, in particular, to be true to Bob, and I am happy to say he has ever kept his word.”

This was telling but half the story.  Maud had made the Indian many presents, and most especially had she attended to his wants, when it was known he was to be the major’s guide, the year previously, on his return to Boston.  Nick had known her real father, and was present at his death.  He was consequently acquainted with her actual position in the family of the Hutted Knoll; and, what was of far more consequence in present emergencies, he had fathomed the depths of her heart, in a way our heroine could hardly be said to have done herself.  Off her guard with such a being, Maud’s solicitude, however, had betrayed her, and the penetrating Tuscarora had discerned that which had escaped the observation of