Nick soon made the signal to proceed, and then the three began to circle the flats, as mentioned in the advance of Maud and her companion.  When they reached a favourable spot, the Indian once more directed a halt, intimating his own intention to move to the margin of the woods, in order to reconnoitre.  Both his companions heard this announcement with satisfaction, for Willoughby was eager to say to Maud directly that which he had so plainly indicated by means of the box, and to extort from her a confession that she was not offended; while Maud herself felt the necessity of letting the major know the melancholy circumstance that yet remained to be told.  With these widely distinct feelings uppermost, our two lovers saw Nick quit them, each impatient, restless and uneasy.

Willoughby had found a seat for Maud, on a log, and he now placed himself at her side, and took her hand, pressing it silently to his heart.

“Nick has then been a true man, dearest Maud,” he said, “notwithstanding all my doubts and misgivings of him.”

“Yes; he gave me to understand you would hardly trust him, and that was the reason I was induced to accompany him.  We both thought, Bob, you would confide in me!”

“Bless you—­bless you—­beloved Maud—­but have you seen Mike—­has he had any interview with you—­in a word, did he deliver you my box?”

Maud’s feelings had been so much excited, that the declaration of Willoughby’s love, precious as it was to her heart failed to produce the outward signs that are usually exhibited by the delicate and sensitive of her sex, when they listen to the insinuating language for the first time.  Her thoughts were engrossed with her dreadful secret, and with the best and least shocking means of breaking it to the major.  The tint on her cheek, therefore, scarce deepened, as this question was put to her, while her eye, full of earnest tenderness, still remained riveted on the face of her companion.

“I have seen Mike, dear Bob,” she answered, with a steadiness that had its rise in her singleness of purpose—­“and he has shown me—­ given me, the box.”

“But have you understood me, Maud?—­You will remember that box contained the great secret of my life!”

“This I well remember—­yes, the box contains the great secret of your life.”

“But—­you cannot have understood me, Maud—­else would you not look so unconcerned—­so vacantly—­I am not understood, and am miserable!”

“No—­no—­no”—­interrupted Maud, hurriedly—­“I understand all you have wished to say, and you have no cause to be—­” Maud’s voice became choked, for she recollected the force of the blow that she had in reserve.

“This is so strange!—­altogether so unlike your usual manner, Maud, that there must be some mistake.  The box contained nothing but your own hair, dearest.”

“Yes; nothing else.  It was my hair; I knew it the instant I saw it.”