were unsatisfactory, in regard to their new mystery, Sir
Everard Valletort, pale and breathless with the speed he
had used, suddenly appeared among them.

"God of heaven! can it be true--and is it really not De
Haldimar whom I have shot?" wildly asked the agitated
young man. "Who is this, Erskine?" he continued, glancing
at the litter. "Explain, for pity's sake, and quickly."

"Compose yourself, my dear Valletort," replied the officer
addressed. "You see this is not De Haldimar, but his
servant Donellan. Neither has the latter met his death
from your rifle; there is no mark of a bullet about him.
It was an Indian tomahawk that did his business; and I
will stake my head against a hickory nut the blow came
from the same rascal at whom you fired, and who gave back
the shot and the scalp halloo."

This opinion was unanimously expressed by the remainder
of the officers. Sir Everard was almost as much overpowered
by his joy, as he had previously been overwhelmed by his
despair, and he grasped and shook the hand of Captain
Erskine, who had thus been the means of relieving his
conscience, with an energy of gratitude and feeling that
almost drew tears from the eyes of that blunt but gallant
officer.

"Thank God, thank God!" he fervently exclaimed: "I have
not then even the death of poor Donellan to answer for;"
and hastening from the guard-room, he pursued his course