Aphiz was almost too miserable to be able to find words to express his feelings.  A bitter tear stole down his sunburnt check as he saw the mother’s grief, but a stern flash of the eye was also visible in the expression of his face.  He sought at once the highest cliff beyond the cottage, and in the distant, far-off horizon, could dimly make out the white canvas of the slave cutter, no bigger than a sea-bird, on the skirts of the horizon.  He sat down in the bitterness of his anguish, alone and heart-broken, and then he remembered the scene of the previous evening, how they both together had seen the hawk pounce down and carry off in its talons the poor wood dove.

That scene, so suggestive to his mind, was not without its meaning.  It was the forerunner of the calamity under which his heart now grieved so bitterly.  Aphiz Adegah’s life had been a bold one, he knew no fear.  The air of his native hills was not freer than his own spirit and as he looked off once more at the tiny white speck in the distance that marked the spot where Komel was, his resolution was instantly made, and he swore to follow and rescue her.

It was but natural that the young mountaineer should desire to find out the agency by which that evil business had been consummated.  He knew very well that such a plan as Komel’s abduction could not have been perpetrated without the aid of parties that knew her and her home, but never for one moment did he suspect Krometz.  He had ever professed the warmest friendship for both him and Komel, and he was deemed honest.  But during the melee, when the honest mountaineer had rushed to Komel’s rescue, and had received the fatal blow, her parents heard a voice that they recognized, and both exclaimed, “Can that voice be Krometz’s!”

This was afterwards made known to Aphiz, and with this clue, though he could scarcely believe that there was the possibility of fact or correctness in the surmise, he sought his pretended friend.  He charged him with the evidence and its inference, and bade him speak and say if this was true.

“It matters not, friend Aphiz, since she is gone, how she came to go.”

“This answer,” said the young mountaineer, “is but another evidence against thee.”

“Do you pretend to call me to an account, Aphiz?  You are but a boy, while I have already reached the full age of manhood.  Think not, because you were more successful with that girl, than I, that you can lord it over me.  I shall answer no further charges from you.”

“Krometz, your guilt speaks out in every line of your face,” said the excited Aphiz.  “Meet me at sunset behind the signal rock on the cliff, and we will settle this affair together.”

“I will neither meet thee, nor account to thee for aught I may have done.”

“The, as true as to-morrow’s sun shall rise, with this good rifle I will shoot you to the heart.  I shall be there at the sunset hour; fail me, and to-morrow you shall die.”