“Doubtless my mother had some dear relative of the name, and to him was this letter addressed; perhaps a brother, or an uncle.  But I never knew,” he pursued, with a look of appeal to his father, “that a second portrait of my mother existed.  This is the very counterpart of Clara’s.”

“It may be the same,” remarked the governor, but in a tone of indecision, that dented his faith in what he uttered.

“Impossible, my father.  I accompanied Clara, if you recollect, as far as Lake Sinclair; and when I quitted the deck of the schooner to return, I particularly remarked my sister wore her mother’s portrait, as usual, round her neck.”

“Well, no matter about the portrait,” hurriedly rejoined the governor; “yet, whatever your impression, Charles,” and he spoke with a warmth that was far from habitual to him, “dare not to sully the memory of your mother by a doubt of her purity.  An accident has given this letter to your inspection, but breathe not its contents to a human creature; above all, respect the being who gave you birth.  Go, tell Captain Blessington to detain the Indian; I will join you immediately.”

Strongly, yet confusedly, impressed with the singularity of the scene altogether, and more particularly with his father’s strange admonition, the young officer quitted the room, and hastened to rejoin his companions.  On reaching the rampart he found that the Indian, during his long absence, had departed; yet not without depositing, on the outer edge of the ditch, the substance to which he had previously directed their attention.  At the moment of De Haldimar’s approach, the officers were bending over the rampart, and, with straining eyes, endeavouring to make out what it was, but in vain; something was just perceptible in the withered turf, but what that something was no one could succeed in discovering.

“Whatever this be, we must possess ourselves of it,” said Captain Blessington:  “it is evident, from the energetic manner of him who left it, it is of importance.  I think I know who is the best swimmer and climber of our party.”

Several voices unanimously pronounced the name of “Johnstone.”

“Any thing for a dash of enterprise,” said that officer, whose slight wound had been perfectly healed.  “But what do you propose that the swimmer and climber should do, Blessington?”

“Secure yon parcel, without lowering the drawbridge.”

“What! and be scalped in the act?  Who knows if it be not a trick after all, and that the rascal who placed it there is not lying within a few feet, ready to pounce upon me the instant I reach the bank.”

“Never mind,” said Erskine, laughingly, “we will revenge your death, my boy.”

“Besides, consider the nunquam non paratus, Johnstone,” slily remarked Lieutenant Leslie.

“What, again, Leslie?” energetically responded the young Scotsman.  “Yet think not I hesitate, for I did but jest:  make fast a rope round my loins, and I think I will answer for the result.”