"You know my name is Maud Willoughby," returned our heroine, colouring to the temples with a certain secret consciousness of her error, but preferring to keep up old appearances.
"Dat call you' fader's name, Meredit'; no Willoughby."
"Merciful Providence! and has this great secret been known to you, too, Nick!"
"He no secret--know all about him. Wyandotté dere. See Major Meredit' shot. He good chief--nebber flog--nebber strike Injin. Nick know fader, know moder--know squaw, when pappoose."
"And why have you chosen this particular moment to tell me all this? Has it any relation to your message--to Bob--to Major Willoughby, I mean?" demanded Mauo, nearly gasping for breath.
"No relation, tell you," said Nick, a little angrily. "Why make relation, when no relation at all. Meredit'; no Willoughby. Ask moder; ask major; ask chaplain--all tell trut'! No need to be so feelin'; no you fader, at all."
"What can you--what do you mean, Nick? Why do you look so wild--so fierce--so kind--so sorrowful--so angry? You must have bad news to tell me."
"Why bad to you--he no fader--only fader friend. You can't help it--fader die when you pappoose--why you care, now, for dis?"
Maud now actually gasped for breath. A frightful glimpse of the truth gleamed before her imagination, though it was necessarily veiled in the mist of uncertainty. She became pale as death, and pressed her hand upon her heart, as if to still its beating. Then, by a desperate effort, she became more calm, and obtained the power to speak.
"Oh! is it so, Nick!--can it be so!" she said; "my father has fallen in this dreadful business?"