He then led the way back, with his party, to the boat.

“The presence of the men acting, in some degree, as a check upon our conversation, Mrs. Ronayne consequently preserved an unbroken silence. She seemed immersed in deep and painful thought, and I could see beneath the thin veil she wore the tears coursing slowly down her cheek. Her first inquiry, on landing, was whether the fishing party was returned, and, on being told that it had not, she seemed to be greatly relieved. I watched her closely, for I need not say that my own daughter could not have inspired me with deeper interest, and in the increased agitation I remarked as the hour of her husband's expected return drew nearer, I began to apprehend a fearful result. Not that, even if my suspicions were correct, she could well be blamed, as the mere victim of a violence she could not prevent; but what I did not like to perceive, and which pained me much, was her evident prepossession in favor of the impetuous boy, which induced her to abstain from all indignant censure. These, however, are merely my own, crude and perhaps unfounded impressions. That she has some terrible truth to reveal to me, there cannot be a question, nor is it likely that it can affect any but herself. This night, however, I shall know all from her own lips, which, although sealed in prudence to her husband, will not hesitate to confide to me the fullest extent of her painful secret; meanwhile, I should recommend that Wau-nan-gee be watched. His long absence from the fort, while evidently concealed in the neighborhood, looks not well. Evidently, he has been long planning the abduction of Maria, and now that he finds himself foiled by her evasion this day, he will avail himself of the present crisis to leave no means unaccomplished to possess her, no matter what blood may be shed in the attainment of his object.”

“Strange, indeed, what you have related,” said Captain Headley, gravely, when his wife had ceased. “I confess I scarcely know what to think or how to act. I must hold council with my officers immediately—hear their opinions without divulging aught of what you have related, and act as my own judgment confirms. How unfortunate! Ronayne and his wife, accompanied by Von Voltenberg, have taken it into their heads to ride to Hardscrabble, and God knows when they will be back. Really, this is most annoying.”

At that moment a terrible shriek, as that of a man in his last fearful agony, was heard without. Struck with sudden dismay, both Captain Headley and his wife rushed to the door, which they reached even as Ensign Ronayne, pale, without his hat, his hair blowing in the breeze, and his cheek colorless as death, was in the act of falling from his jaded horse, whose trembling limbs and sides covered with foam, attested the desperate speed with which he had been ridden.

“Oh, God! he has heard all—he knows all,” murmured Mrs. Headley, as she fell back in the arms of her husband. “Now, then, is the drama of horror but commenced.”

Before the unfortunate officer could be—raised and carried to his apartments by the sympathizing soldiers of the garrison, another horseman followed into the fort. It was Doctor Van Voltenberg, whose flushed face and excited appearance denoted the speed at which he too had ridden. He flung himself from his horse, and followed anxiously to the apartment of his friend.

But where was the third of the party? where was Maria, the universally beloved of every soldier of that garrison? where was Mrs. Ronayne?

CHAPTER III.

—Macbeth

—Richard II.

Little more than a month had elapsed since the marriage of the impetuous and generous Ensign Ronayne to the woman he adored. Absorbed by the intensity of their passion, fed by the solitude around, each day increased their attachment, and their full hearts acknowledged that the love which the man bears to his mistress—the affianced sharer of his inmost thoughts—is passionless compared with that which follows the mystic tie, linking their most secret being in fearlessness of devotion. Then, for the first time, had they felt and acknowledged all the power of the beauty of God's holy ordinance, which seemed to wed not in mere form, but in fact, the deepest emotions of their glowing souls. What was the world to them? They hoped to live and die among those wild scenes in which their passion had been cradled and nurtured, until now it had acquired a force almost more than human. Often then, and often even since the short period of their union, had they fallen on their knees in the silence and solitude of the wilderness around, and, clasped to each other's heart, returned fervent thanks to the Deity, not only for having given them hearts to comprehend love in all its mysterious and holy sublimity, but in having blessed them with the dearer self in which each other found pleasure and lived a double existence. More calm, more softened, more subdued in feeling, after this passionate ebullition, a holy and voluptuous calm would beam from their eyes; and when they alluded gently and fondly to the years and years of happiness that yet awaited them in the health and fulness of their youth, thoughts and looks, not words, attested the deep thankfulness of their hearts.

All this had been up to the evening of the incidents named in our opening chapter. Then, for the first time, had a change come over Maria's feelings and manner. On leaving Mrs. Headley, she had retired to her apartments, endeavoring to prepare herself for the momentarily expected arrival of her husband, whom she longed, yet dreaded to meet. She received him with a restraint which she had great difficulty in disguising, and wept many bitter tears, as, anxiously remarking her changed and extraordinary manner, he looked reproachfully and fixedly at her, without, however, saying a word that was passing in his mind.

“Nay, nay, Ronayne; you think me reserved, altered, to-day; but indeed I am not well. The cause you shall know later, not now—it would be premature. I am a bad dissembler, and cannot look gay when my heart is full of anguish to overwhelming; but, my love, I must entreat a very great favor of you, which I know you will not refuse.”

“Is there aught under heaven that I can refuse to my adored one?” returned Ronayne, tenderly clasping her to his breast; “no, Maria, you have a boon to ask, and the boon shall be granted.”

“After all, it is not a Very great deal,” she remarked, with a sickly smile; “but I have a strong desire to ride to Hardscrabble to-morrow. You know it is long since I have been there, and I have a particular reason to visit it in the course of the afternoon to-morrow.” Her voice trembled, and she felt ill at ease.

Her husband looked grave. “Nay, Maria, is this wise? You know, as you have just said, that you have not visited that scene since the death of your father; wherefore now, and simply to reopen a fast-closing wound?”

“It is for the reason,” she said, “that I have so long neglected this duty that I am the more anxious to repair the seeming neglect.”

“Your first visit,” remarked Ronayne, half reproachfully, “methinks ought to have been to the grave of your poor mother. You have not been over to the cottage since her death.”

Had an arrow passed through the heart of Mrs. Ronayne, it could not have imparted more exquisitely keen sensations than did that casual remark. She turned pale, but made no reply; nay, almost fell fainting on his bosom.

“What, my soul's beloved, is the matter? Nay, pardon me for bringing up again the memory so suddenly upon your gentle thought! I should have used more caution in renewing