Yet what can you have to tell me, my dear Mr.
Elmsley, more than I already divine--my poor father--"
and the tears started from her eyes.
"Ha! there at least, I have comfort for you--although
there has been sad work at the farm--the fishing-party
have come in with the bodies of poor Le Noir and the boy
Wilton, but they all say that Mr. Heywood was carried
off a prisoner by the Indians."
"Carried off a prisoner," repeated Miss Heywood, a sudden
glow animating her pale features--"oh! Elmsley, thank you
for that. There is still a hope then?"
"There is indeed a hope; but, dearest Miss Heywood, why
must I heal with one hand and wound with the other. If
I give comparative good news of your father, there is
another who ought to be here, and whose absence at this
moment is to me at once a pain and a mystery."
"You mean Harry Ronayne?" she said, hesitatingly, but
without manifesting surprise.
"Where the foolish fellow has gone," he continued, "I do
not know, but he has disappeared from the Fort, nor has
he left the slightest clue by which he may be traced."
"Does Captain Headley know this?" she inquired,
recollecting, that part of the conversation that had
passed between them the preceding day, in reference to
the succor that might have been afforded at the farm.
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