Indian that stood at the
side of the horse. He looked again--the distance was too great
to enable him to judge distinctly, but he felt convinced the rider
was a woman. There was A telescope kept in the bastion near the
flagstaff, for the use principally of the officer of the guard. He
walked rapidly to this, and drew the instrument to its proper focus,
but when he looked in the direction in which he had before gazed
nothing was to be seen. Vexed and annoyed beyond all measure, he
descended again rapidly to the gate, but with no better success.
He could not doubt that it was his wife whom he had seen, yet
unwilling to breathe the knowledge even to himself, his heart was
a prey to the most contradictory feelings. In a few moments, however,
the horse he had before remarked again appeared emerging from the
same point of road, but this time he no longer carried a woman but
a warrior, so that all means of identifying the former were denied
to him. But still there was evidence sufficient. The horse was
evidently Maria's, though with its tail twisted and plaited as for
disguise; and as Ronayne with the glass brought fully to bear upon
him, saw the rider throw over his shoulders and fasten round his
neck, a blanket, and place on his head a colored calico turban,
such as was in common use among the Pottowatomies, he felt satisfied
that it was the same youth who, in the disguise of a Miami, had
pressed him so closely in the chase of the preceding day.

Strange to say, he entertained no feeling of enmity towards the
youth, even when he turned away with feelings of mingled bitterness
and mortification, and silently ascended the bastion to replace
the glass. Never was his mind more unsettled--never had he entertained
so perfect a sentiment of indifference for everything around him.
It was very well to talk of pride, and scorn, and fortitude, but
existence to him had become a dull weight, a rayless future, and
nothing would have pleased him better at that moment, than the
sudden announcement of a British force being at hand. In the stirring
excitement of action only could he hope to find distraction, and
the ball aimed at his heart, the sword pointed to his throat, he
would have scarcely deemed it worth his while to seek to turn aside.
The roar of artillery and of musquetry would, he felt, be music to
his ears, provided it shut out from memory the recollection of what
had been. But the idea of a long and monotonous march to Fort Wayn