"Why should you weep, old man?" said the Eagle Eye, with imperturbable calmness. "My young brother has gone to the Great Spirit, like a great warrior as he was. Who among his tribe shall be ashamed of him? Who among warriors shall call him a woman? I could weep for him too, did I not know that the Great Spirit has taken him to happiness, from which it were wicked in me to wish to have detained him for my own miserable gratification. But he is happy! He has gone to those fair, boundless, and plentiful hunting-grounds that lie beyond the great lake, where he will never know want, and where we, if our deeds be like his, will surely follow him. But till then, the sunshine of the Eagle Eye has departed, and night must surround his footsteps, since the light of his pale-faced brother has departed!" "This is too much!" said the Colonel, quite overwhelmed by his feelings. "Help him to bear off the body. It must not be left here." The Eagle Eye arose in silence, and gravely and solemnly assisted the Highlander, who attended the Colonel, to lift and bear away the body, and they had not thus proceeded more than a few paces in their retreat from the works, when the weeping eyes of the Highland commanding-officer, and the eagle gaze of the red warrior, were equally arrested, at the same moment, by one and the same object. This was the manly and heroic form of Major Campbell of Inverawe. He sat on the ground, desperately wounded, with his back partially supported against the body of his horse, which had been killed under him. His eye-balls were stretched from their sockets, and fixed upon vacancy, with an expression of terror, greater than that with which death himself, riding triumphant as he was over that field of the slain, could have filled those of so brave a man. Colonel Grant was so overcome, that he could not utter a word. He was convulsed by his emotions. The Eagle Eye laid down the body of Donald opposite to his father, and silently resumed his former position, with the youth's head between his knees. The father's eyes caught the motionless features of his son, and he started from his strange state of abstraction. "My son!" murmured the wounded Inverawe. "So, it is as I supposed,--he is gone! But I shall soon be with you, boy. God in his mercy help and protect your poor mother!" "Speak not thus, my dearest friend!" said Colonel Grant, making an effort to command himself, and hastening to support and comfort the wounded man; "trust me you will yet do well. You must live for your poor wife's sake." "No!" replied Inverawe, with deep solemnity. "My hour is come. In vain was it that your kind friendship, and that of the brave Abercromby, succeeded in deceiving me,--for I have seen him--I have seen him terribly,--and this is Ticonderoga!"