After removing several wrappers of bark, each of which was secured by a thong of deerskin, Colonel de Haldimar, to whom the successful officer had handed his prize, at length came to a small oval case of red morocco, precisely similar, in size and form, to that which had so recently attracted the notice of his son.  For a moment he hesitated, and his cheek was observed to turn pale, and his hand to tremble; but quickly subduing his indecision, he hurriedly unfastened the clasp, and disclosed to the astonished view of the officers the portrait of a young and lovely woman, habited in the Highland garb.

Exclamations of various kinds burst from the lips of the group of officers.  Several knew it to be the portrait of Mrs. de Haldimar; others recognised it from the striking likeness it bore to Clara and to Charles; all knew it had never been absent from the possession of the former since her mother’s death; and feeling satisfied as they did that its extraordinary appearance among them, at the present moment, was an announcement of some dreadful disaster, their countenances wore an impress of dismay little inferior to that of the wretched Charles, who, agonized beyond all attempt at description, had thrown himself into a seat in the rear of the group, and sat like one bewildered, with his head buried in his hands.

“Gentlemen,” at length observed Colonel de Haldimar, in a voice that proved how vainly his natural emotion was sought to be subdued by his pride, “this, I fear me, is an unwelcome token.  It comes to announce to a father the murder of his child; to us all, the destruction of our last remaining friends and comrades.”

“God forbid!” solemnly aspirated Captain Blessington.  After a pause of a moment or two he pursued:  “I know not why, sir; but my impression is, the appearance of this portrait, which we all recognise for that worn by Miss de Haldimar, bears another interpretation.”

Colonel de Haldimar shook his head.—­“I have but too much reason to believe,” he observed, smiling in mournful bitterness, “it has been conveyed to us not in mercy but in revenge.”

No one ventured to question why; for notwithstanding all were aware that in the mysterious ravisher of the wife of Halloway Colonel de Haldimar had a fierce and inexorable private enemy, no allusion had ever been made by that officer himself to the subject.

“Will you permit me to examine the portrait and envelopes, Colonel?” resumed Captain Blessington:  “I feel almost confident, although I confess I have no other motive for it than what springs from a recollection of the manner of the Indian, that the result will bear me out in my belief the bearer came not in hostility but in friendship.”

“By my faith, I quite agree with Blessington,” said Captain Erskine; “for, in addition to the manner of the Indian, there is another evidence in favour of his position.  Was it merely intended in the light in which you consider it, Colonel, the case or the miniature itself might have been returned, but certainly not the metal in which it is set.  The savages are fully aware of the value of gold, and would not so easily let it slip through their fingers.”