Zuleime was moving about the room, and giving directions to a servant, who had brought in cakes and preserves. Finally she sat down, and took out her knitting—it was a pair of white lamb’s wool socks, for her father—and knitted while she waited. She had not long to wait. The door swung open silently, and Mr. Clifton entered, with a newspaper in his hand, but looking so shocked and troubled, that all, with one accord, raised their eyes in silent inquiry. “Poor Frank! poor Frank!” exclaimed the old man, as if he was ready to burst into a passion of tears. “What!—what of Frank?” asked a faltering, gasping voice, which he could not recognize as belonging to either of the three young women present—yet answered, mechanically— “Those bloody Redskins! Those ghastly, horrible Savages!” he cried, throwing himself into a chair. “There—there has been some fighting! Is——Tell me!—tell me! You know what I want to know. _Is Archer safe?_” exclaimed Carolyn, bending forward. While sallow and fierce, the eyes of Georgia gleamed the terror and anxiety she dared not express! “Archer is safe!” said Mr. Clifton. And the light of a sudden joy flitted across Georgia’s dark face,—and Carolyn sank back, with a look of grateful relief. And no one noticed Zuleime. And no one knew that she had spoken. “Yes! Archer is safe! Thank God! And a thousand times _thank God_, that Archer is safe! But Frank!—poor Frank! My God what a fate! Who shall tell his mother?” “For Heaven’s sake!—what has happened to Mr. Fairfax?” asked Georgia. “There! There! Read for yourself,” replied the old man, getting up, and handing her the paper. He did not mean that she should read aloud, perhaps—but he forgot—he was confused with trouble. And she took the paper, and read:—“FROM THE INDIAN FRONTIER; HORRIBLE MASSACRE NEAR FORT PROTECTION.—Dispatches from our Western frontier bring the most painful account of a horrible massacre of a part of our troops by the Indians, in the vicinity of Fort Protection. On Monday, the 15th ultimo, a small reconnoitering party left the Fort, under the command of Lieutenant Fairfax. They had proceeded about a mile on their way, when they fell into an ambuscade of Indians, and were cut to pieces in the most shocking manner. The body of Lieutenant Fairfax, in particular, was so horribly mutilated as to be scarcely recognizable. The full particulars of the massacre, given below, are copied from the ‘National Sentinel.’”