“For God’s holy sake, Mistress Mabel,” called out the woman from below; for, though her fear had become too ungovernable to allow her to keep silence, our heroine’s superior refinement, more than the regimental station of her father, still controlled her mode of address, —­ “Mistress Mabel, tell me if any of our friends are living!  I think I hear groans that grow fainter and fainter, and fear that they will all be tomahawked!”

Mabel now remembered that one of the soldiers was this woman’s husband, and she trembled at what might be the immediate effect of her sorrow, should his death become suddenly known to her.  The groans, too, gave a little hope, though she feared they might come from her uncle, who lay out of view.

“We are in His holy keeping, Jennie,” she answered.  “We must trust in Providence, while we neglect none of its benevolent means of protecting ourselves.  Be careful with the door; on no account open it without my directions.”

“Oh, tell me, Mistress Mabel, if you can anywhere see Sandy!  If I could only let him know that I’m in safety, the guid man would be easier in his mind, whether free or a prisoner.”

Sandy was Jennie’s husband, and he lay dead in plain view of the loop from which our heroine was then looking.

“You no’ tell me if you’re seeing of Sandy,” the woman repeated from below, impatient at Mabel’s silence.

“There are some of our people gathered about the body of M’Nab,” was the answer; for it seemed sacrilegious in her eyes to tell a direct untruth under the awful circumstances in which she was placed.

“Is Sandy amang them?” demanded the woman, in a voice that sounded appalling by its hoarseness and energy.

“He may be certainly; for I see one, two, three, four, and all in the scarlet coats of the regiment.”

“Sandy!” called out the woman frantically; “why d’ye no’ care for yoursal’, Sandy?  Come hither the instant, man, and share your wife’s fortunes in weal or woe.  It’s no’ a moment for your silly discipline and vain-glorious notions of honor!  Sandy!  Sandy!”

Mabel heard the bar turn, and then the door creaked on its hinges.  Expectation, not to say terror, held her in suspense at the loop, and she soon beheld Jennie rushing through the bushes in the direction of the cluster of the dead.  It took the woman but an instant to reach the fatal spot.  So sudden and unexpected had been the blow, that she in her terror did not appear to comprehend its weight.  Some wild and half-frantic notion of a deception troubled her fancy, and she imagined that the men were trifling with her fears.  She took her husband’s hand, and it was still warm, while she thought a covert smile was struggling on his lip.

“Why will ye fool life away, Sandy?” she cried, pulling at the arm.  “Ye’ll all be murdered by these accursed Indians, and you no’ takin’ to the block like trusty soldiers!  Awa’! awa’! and no’ be losing the precious moments.”