“See—­all got scalp!  Deat’, nothin’—­scalp, ebbery t’ing.”

We shall not attempt to describe the outbreaking of anguish from the husband and brother.  It was a moment of wild grief, that bore down all the usual restraints of manhood, though it was such a moment as an American frontier residence has often witnessed.  The quiet but deep-feeling nature of Beekman received a shock that almost produced a dissolution of his earthly being.  He succeeded, however, in raising the still warm body of Beulah from the floor, and folding it to his heart.  Happily for his reason, a flood of tears, such as women shed, burst from his soul, rather than from his eyes, bedewing her still sweet and placid countenance.

To say that Robert Willoughby did not feel the desolation, which so suddenly alighted on a family that had often been quoted for its mutual affection and happiness, would be to do him great injustice.  He even staggered under the blow; yet his heart craved further information.  The Indian was gazing intently on the sight of Beekman’s grief, partly in wonder, but more in sympathy, when he felt an iron pressure of his arm.

“Maud—­Tuscarora”—­the major rather groaned than whispered in his ear, “know you anything of Maud?”

Nick made a gesture of assent; then motioned for the other to follow.  He led the way to the store-room, produced the key, and throwing open the door, Maud was weeping on Robert Willoughby’s bosom in another instant.  He would not take her to the chamber of death, but urged her, by gentle violence, to follow him to the library.

“God be praised for this mercy!” exclaimed the ardent girl, raising her hands and streaming eyes to heaven.  “I know not, care not, who is conqueror, since you are safe!”

“Oh!  Maud—­beloved one—­we must now be all in all to each other.  Death has stricken the others.”

This was a sudden and involuntary announcement, though it was best it should be so under the circumstances.  It was long before Maud could hear an outline, even, of the details, but she bore them better than Willoughby could have hoped.  The excitement had been so high, as to brace the mind to meet any human evil.  The sorrow that came afterwards, though sweetened by so many tender recollections, and chastened hopes, was deep and enduring.

Our picture would not have been complete, without relating the catastrophe that befell the Hutted Knoll; but, having discharged this painful duty, we prefer to draw a veil over the remainder of that dreadful night.  The cries of the negresses, when they learned the death of their old and young mistress, disturbed the silence of the place for a few minutes and then a profound stillness settled on the buildings, marking them distinctly as the house of mourning.  On further inquiry, too, it was ascertained that Great Smash, after shooting an Oneida, had been slain and scalped.  Pliny the younger, also, fell fighting like a wild beast to defend the entrance to his mistresses’ apartments.