Miss Heywood turned very pale, less at the words even than at the manner of the young officer, who it was evident, felt all the weight of the task he had undertaken.

“Ronayne,” she said, her voice suddenly assuming a rich melancholy of intonation, in strange contrast with her first address, “there is more in this than you would acquaint me with.  But, tell me,” and she fixed her large dark eyes on his—­“tell me all.  What pain is it you fear to occasion me, and how is it connected with my being a prisoner?  Ha!” and she grasped his arm, and betrayed deep agitation—­“surely nothing in my father’s conduct—­”

“No, no, Maria,” returned the youth, quickly, “far from anything of the kind, and yet it is of your father I would speak.  But have you heard nothing since I left you.  Have you seen no one?”

“I have heard nothing—­seen not a soul from without,” she answered, as he tenderly pressed the hand he had taken—­“But, Ronayne,” she pursued, with melancholy gravity—­“a sudden light dawns upon me—­my heart tells me that some misfortune or other has happened, or is about to happen—­you say you would speak about my father.  You are the bearer of ill-news in regard to him.  Yes, I know it is so; tell me, Harry,” and she looked imploringly up to him, “am I not right?—­my father has been attacked by Indians, and he has fallen.  Oh! you do not deny it!”

“Nay, dearest Maria, I know nothing of the kind, although I will not conceal from you that there is danger—­you have guessed correctly as to the Indians having been at the farm, but little certain is known as to the result of their visit.  That half idiot Ephraim Giles, has come in with some wild story, but I daresay he exaggerates.”

Miss Heywood shook her head doubtingly.  “You deceive me, Ronayne—­with the best intention, but still you deceive me.  If you really think the rumor be exaggerated, why your own restlessness and seriousness of manner?  Harry, this is no time for concealment, for I feel that I can better bear the truth now than later.  Do not hesitate then to tell me all you know.”

“True, my love, this is no time for concealment since such be the state of your feelings.  I was unwilling to admit my own apprehension on the subject, fearing that you might be ill-prepared for the disclosure; but after what you have just urged, the blow can never fall less heavily than now.  You must know, then, that a party of hostile Indians have, there is too much reason to fear, used violence toward the inmates of the farm-house, but to what extent we have no means of knowing; though such is the alarm created by their presence that Headley, who you know is the very soul of caution, has ordered every white in the neighborhood of the Fort, to be removed for safety within its walls.”

“Would that instead of that,” remarked Miss Heywood, with solemnity, “he had despatched those soldiers, whom I see there fully armed, to the rescue of my poor father.  Perhaps he might be saved yet—­the house is strong, and might be defended for some time, even by a couple of men.”