The young officer hurriedly tore the miniature from the breast of his uniform, and pitched it through the interval that separated him from his captain, who stood a few feet off; but with so uncertain and trembling an aim, it missed the hand extended to secure it, and fell upon the very stone the youth had formerly pointed out to Blessington, as marking the particular spot on which he stood during the execution of Halloway.  The violence of the fall separated the back of the frame from the picture itself, when suddenly a piece of white and crumpled paper, apparently part of the back of a letter, yet cut to the size and shape of the miniature, was exhibited to the view of all.

“Ha!” resumed the gratified Blessington, as he stooped to possess himself of the prize; “I knew the miniature would be found to contain some intelligence from our friends.  It is only this moment it occurred to me to take it to pieces, but accident has anticipated my purpose.  May the omen prove a good one!  But what have we here?”

With some difficulty, the anxious officer now succeeded in making out the characters, which, in default of pen or pencil, had been formed by the pricking of a fine pin on the paper.  The broken sentences, on which the whole of the group now hung with greedy ear, ran nearly as follows:—­“All is lost.  Michilimackinac is taken.  We are prisoners, and doomed to die within eight and forty hours.  Alas!  Clara and Madeline are of our number.  Still there is a hope, if my father deem it prudent to incur the risk.  A surprise, well managed, may do much; but it must be tomorrow night; forty-eight hours more, and it will be of no avail.  He who will deliver this is our friend, and the enemy of my father’s enemy.  He will be in the same spot at the same hour to-morrow night, and will conduct the detachment to wherever we may chance to be.  If you fail in your enterprise, receive our last prayers for a less disastrous fate.  God bless you all!”

The blood ran coldly through every vein during the perusal of these important sentences, but not one word of comment was offered by an individual of the group.  No explanation was necessary.  The captives in the canoe, the tall warrior in its stern, all sufficiently betrayed the horrible truth.

Colonel de Haldimar at length turned an enquiring look at his two captains, and then addressing the adjutant, asked—­

“What companies are off duty to-day, Mr. Lawson?”

“Mine,” said Blessington, with an energy that denoted how deeply rejoiced he felt at the fact, and without giving the adjutant time to reply.

“And mine,” impetuously added Captain Erskine; “and, by G—!  I will answer for them; they never embarked on a duty of the sort with greater zeal than they will on this occasion.”

“Gentlemen, I thank you,” said Colonel de Haldimar, with deep emotion, as he stepped forward and grasped in turn the hands of the generous-hearted officers.  “To Heaven, and to your exertions, do I commit my children.”