from the wood towards the beach.  The crowd of gesticulating Indians made way, and the warrior was seen to stoop and apply his shoulder to the canoe, one half of which was high and dry upon the sands.  The heavily laden vessel obeyed the impetus with a rapidity that proved the muscular power of him who gave it.  Like some wild animal, instinct with life, it lashed the foaming waters from its bows, and left a deep and gurgling furrow where it passed.  As it quitted the shore, the warrior sprang lightly in, taking his station at the stern; and while his tall and remarkable figure bent nimbly to the movement, he dashed his paddle from right to left alternately in the stream, with a quickness that rendered it almost invisible to the eye.  Presently the canoe disappeared round an intervening headland, and the officers lost sight of it altogether.

“The portrait, Charles; what have you done with the portrait?” exclaimed Captain Blessington, actuated by a sudden recollection, and with a trepidation in his voice and manner that spoke volumes of despair to the younger De Haldimar.  “This is our only hope of solving the mystery.  Quick, give me the portrait, if you have it.”

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!”