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Richardson, John, 1796-1852

"Hardscrabble; or, the fall of Chicago. a tale of Indian warfare"


"Nay, dear Maria," returned the youth, deeply grieved at
the thought of casting a gloom over the spirits of her
who thus rallied him. "I am sorry to say my errand is
not one of mere parade--I have come to announce that
which will give you pain; and but that I am charged with
the agreeable duty of making you a prisoner, I never
should have had the courage to be the bearer of the
intelligence."
Miss Heywood turned very pale, less at the words even
than at the manner of the young officer, who it was
evident, felt all the weight of the task he had undertaken.
"Ronayne," she said, her voice suddenly assuming a rich
melancholy of intonation, in strange contrast with her
first address, "there is more in this than you would
acquaint me with. But, tell me," and she fixed her large
dark eyes on his--"tell me all. What pain is it you fear
to occasion me, and how is it connected with my being a
prisoner? Ha!" and she grasped his arm, and betrayed deep
agitation--"surely nothing in my father's conduct--"
"No, no, Maria," returned the youth, quickly, "far from
anything of the kind, and yet it is of your father I
would speak.


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