her duty, and she had, accordingly, resolved to encounter the peril of
the journey.

For a day or two after the perusal of this letter, Lindsay fell into a
deep melancholy. His presentiments seemed to have been fatally realized,
and his hopes suddenly destroyed. From this despondency, Tyrrel's
assiduous artifice aroused him. He proposed to Lindsay the pursuit of
his children, in the hope of thus luring him into Cornwallis's camp, and
connecting him with the fortunes of the war. The chances of life, he
reasoned, were against Butler, if indeed, as Tyrrel had ground to hope,
that officer were not already the victim of the snares that had been
laid for him.

Upon this advice, Lindsay had set out for Cornwallis's head-quarters,
where he arrived within a week after the interview of Mildred and Henry
with the British chief.

Whilst he delayed here, he received the tidings that his daughter had
abandoned her homeward journey, and turned aside in quest of Butler.
This determined him to continue his pursuit. Tyrrel still accompanied
him; and the two travellers having arrived at the moment of the attack
upon King's mountain, Lindsay was persuaded by his companion to make the
rash adventure which, we have already seen, had been the cause of his
present misfortune.

It is not my purpose to attempt a description of the scene in the
cottage, where Arthur Butler and his wife, and Henry, first saw Lindsay
stretched upon a rude pallet, and suffering the anguish of a dangerous
wound. It is sufficient to say that, in the midst of the deep grief of
the bystanders, Lindsay was composed and tranquil, like one who thought
it vain to struggle with fate. "I have foreseen this day, and felt its
coming," he muttered, in a low and broken voice; "it has happened as it
was ordained. I have unwisely struggled against my doom. There, take
it," he added, as he stretched forth his hand to Butler, and in tones
scarcely audible breathed out, "God bless you, my children! I forgive
you."

During the night fever ensued, and with it came delirium. The patient
acquired strength from his disease, and raved wildly, in a strain
familiar to his waking superstition. The same vision of fate and destiny
haunted his imagination; and he almost frightened his daughter from
beside his couch, with the fervid eloquence of his madness.

The cottage was situated near half a mile from the encampment of the
army. Towards daylight, Lindsay had sunk into a slumber, and the