s followers, stood impatiently listening to a
colloquy that was unintelligible to all. "Speak truly, was SHE not the
traitress who conducted you here?"

"Had you found me here," returned the officer, with difficulty
repressing his feelings, "there might have been some ground for the
assertion; but surely the councils of the chiefs could not be overheard
at the distant point at which you discovered me."

"Why then were you there in this disguise?--and who is he," again
holding up the bloody scalp, "whom I have despoiled of this?"

"There are few of the Ottawa Indians," returned Captain de Haldimar,
"who are ignorant I once saved that young woman's life. Is it then so
very extraordinary an attachment should have been the consequence? The
man whom you slew was my servant. I had brought him out with me for
protection during my interview with the woman, and I exchanged my
uniform with him for the same purpose. There is nothing in this,
however, to warrant the supposition of my being a spy."

During the delivery of these more than equivocal sentences, which,
however, he felt were fully justified by circumstances, the young
officer had struggled to appear calm and confident; but, despite of his
exertions, his consciousness caused his cheek to colour, and his eye to
twinkle, beneath the searching glance of his ferocious enemy. The
latter thrust his hand into his chest, and slowly drew forth the rope
he had previously exhibited to Ponteac.

"Do you think me a fool, Captain de Haldimar," he observed, sneeringly,
"that you expect so paltry a tale to be palmed successfully on my
understanding? An English officer is not very likely to run the risk of
breaking his neck by having recourse to such a means of exit from a
besieged garrison, merely to intrigue with an Indian woman, when there
are plenty of soldiers' wives within, and that too at an hour when he
knows the scouts of his enemies are prowling in the neighbourhood.
Captain de Haldimar," he concluded, slowly and deliberately, "you have
lied."

Despite of the last insult, his prisoner remained calm. The very
observation that had just been made afforded him a final hope of
exculpation, which, if it benefited not himself, might still be of
service to the generous Oucanasta.

"The onus of such language," he observed coolly and with dignity,
"falls not on him to whom it is addressed, but on him who utters it.
Yet one who professes to have been himself a soldier, must see in