ing waters from
its bows, and left a deep and gurgling furrow where it passed. As it
quitted the shore, the warrior sprang lightly in, taking his station at
the stern; and while his tall and remarkable figure bent nimbly to the
movement, he dashed his paddle from right to left alternately in the
stream, with a quickness that rendered it almost invisible to the eye.
Presently the canoe disappeared round an intervening headland, and the
officers lost sight of it altogether.

"The portrait, Charles; what have you done with the portrait?"
exclaimed Captain Blessington, actuated by a sudden recollection, and
with a trepidation in his voice and manner that spoke volumes of
despair to the younger De Haldimar. "This is our only hope of solving
the mystery. Quick, give me the portrait, if you have it."

The young officer hurriedly tore the miniature from the breast of his
uniform, and pitched it through the interval that separated him from
his captain, who stood a few feet off; but with so uncertain and
trembling an aim, it missed the hand extended to secure it, and fell
upon the very stone the youth had formerly pointed out to Blessington,
as marking the particular spot on which he stood during the execution
of Halloway. The violence of the fall separated the back of the frame
from the picture itself, when suddenly a piece of white and crumpled
paper, apparently part of the back of a letter, yet cut to the size and
shape of the miniature, was exhibited to the view of all.

"Ha!" resumed the gratified Blessington, as he stooped to possess
himself of the prize; "I knew the miniature would be found to contain
some intelligence from our friends. It is only this moment it occurred
to me to take it to pieces, but accident has anticipated my purpose.
May the omen prove a good one! But what have we here?"

With some difficulty, the anxious officer now succeeded in making out
the characters, which, in default of pen or pencil, had been formed by
the pricking of a fine pin on the paper. The broken sentences, on which
the whole of the group now hung with greedy ear, ran nearly as
follows:--"All is lost. Michilimackinac is taken. We are prisoners, and
doomed to die within eight and forty hours. Alas! Clara and Madeline
are of our number. Still there is a hope, if my father deem it prudent
to incur the risk. A surprise, well managed, may do much; but it must
be tomorrow night; forty-eight hours more, and it will be of no avail.
He who w