“I never forgive,” was the calm reply.

CHAPTER LXVIII.

A TREMENDOUS snow-storm fell upon the mine and drove Jem into his tent, where he was soon after joined by Jacky, a circumstance in itself sufficient to prove the violence of the storm, for Jacky loathed indoors, it choked him a good deal.

The more was Jem surprised when he heard a lamentable howl coming nearer and nearer, and a woman burst into his tent, a mere pillar of snow, for she was covered with a thousand flakes each as big as a lady’s hand.

“Ochone! ochone! ochone!” cried Mary McDogherty, and, on being asked what was the matter, she sat down and rocked herself and moaned and cried, “Ochone—­och, captain, avick, what will I do for you? an’ who will I find to save you? an’ oh, it is the warm heart and the kind heart ye had to poor Molly McDogherty that ud give her life to save yours this day.”

“The captain,” cried Jem, in great alarm.  “What is wrong with the captain?”

“He is lying could and stiff in the dark, bloody wood.  Och, the murthering villains! och, what will I do at all! och, captain, avick, warm was your heart to the poor Irish boys, but it is could now.  Ochone! ochone!”

“Woman,” cried Jem, in great agitation, “leave off blubbering and tell me what is the matter.”

Thus blandly interrogated, Mary told him a story (often interrupted with tears and sighs) of what had been heard and seen yester eve by one of the Irish boys—­a story that turned him cold, for it left on him the same impression it had left on the warmhearted Irishwoman, that at this moment his good friend was lying dead in the bush hard by.

He rose and loaded Robinson’s double-barreled gun; he loaded it with bullets, and, as he rammed them fiercely down, he said angrily:  “Leave off crying and wringing your hands; what on earth is the use of that? here goes to save him or to revenge him.”

“An’ och, James, take the wild Ingine wid ye; they know them bloody, murthering woods better than our boys, glory be to God for taching them that same.”

“Of course I shall take him.  You hear, Jacky, will you show me how to find the poor dear captain and his mate if they are in life?”

“If they are alive, Jacky will find them a good deal soon—­if they are dead, still Jacky will find them.”

The Irishwoman’s sorrow burst out afresh at these words.  The savage then admitted the probability of that she dreaded.

“And their enemies—­the cowardly villains—­what will you do to them?” asked Jem, black with rage.