"I'll do it, Mr. Reynolds; but--(here Isaac's voice trembled, his features grew pale as death, and his whole frame quivered with intense emotion)--but--but my--my father--what--" He could say no more--his voice had completely failed him. "Alas! Isaac," replied Algernon, deeply affected, and turning away his face; "think the worst." "Oh God!" groaned Isaac, covering his face with his hands, and endeavoring to master his feelings. "But--but--he's dead, Mr. Reynolds?" "He is." For a few moments Isaac sobbed grievously; then withdrawing his hands, and raising himself to an erect posture, with a look of resignation, he said: "I--I can bear it now--for I know he's in Heaven. Stay here, Mr. Reynolds, till I come back;" and he turned abruptly away. In a few minutes Isaac returned--his features calm, but very pale--and silently motioned the other to follow him. On their way to the cottage, they had to cross the common, where their progress was greatly impeded by a crowd of persons, who, having heard of Algernon's arrival, were deeply anxious to gather what tidings he might have concerning the movements of the Indians. In reply, he informed them of the threats made by Girty to him while a captive; and that, having since been a prisoner of the British at Detroit, he had learned, from reliable sources, that a grand army of the Indians was forming to march upon the frontiers, attack some stronghold, and, if possible, desolate the entire country of Kentucky; and that he believed they were already on their way. "More'n that, they're already here," cried a voice; "for it's them, I 'spect, as has attacked Hoy's Station, of which we've just got news, and are gitting ready to march at daylight and attack them in turn. Arm, boys, arm! Don't let us dally here, and be lagging when the time comes to march and fight!" With this the speaker turned away, and the crowd instantly dispersed to resume their occupations of preparing for the coming expedition, while our hero and Isaac pressed forward to the cottage of Mrs. Younker. At the door they were met by the good dame herself, who, with eyes wet with tears, caught the proffered hand of Reynolds in both of hers, pressed it warmly in silence, and led him into the house. Ella, who was seated at a short distance, on the entrance of Algernon, rose to her feet, took a step forward, staggered back, and the next moment her insensible form was caught in the arms of the being she loved, but had long mourned as dead. [Footnote 19: This happened in June, 1782. For particulars of Crawford's disastrous campaign, and horrible fate--_See Howe's Ohio_, p. 542.] CHAPTER XVI. THE ALARM AND STRATAGEM.