"Reading _my_ letter!" cried Harriet, turning upon him a look inexpressibly fierce and triumphant. "Was not this suspicion as prophetic as the other? The dead Parker speaks to me, and from his grave affords me proof even stronger than I sought. Oh, villain! villain! audacious, inconceivably audacious, villain! Their lieutenant? His intimacy with, his designs upon Catherine Loring, revealed even to his ribald companions? and made their theme of speech! their jest! Oh, what a rival have you suffered to approach your betrothed wife, Harry Falconer! _This_ convicts, doubly convicts him.--What ho, uncle! Captain Loring, awake! Where is Catherine? Uncle! uncle!" "Devils!" cried Falconer, "do you mean to say that Hunter is the man? Why he's a gentleman!"-- "Adzooks, and adsbobs, what's the matter? Send out scouts to beat the bushes: tree 'em, my boys, tree 'em; never show an inch of Adam's leather to an Indian.--Adzooks, is that you, Harry my dear?" were the words of Captain Loring, roused as suddenly from his slumbers as he had often been in his early woodland campaigns. "What's the matter? Have you caught that scoundrel Oran, or any of his gang?" The answer to this question astounded the old soldier; and while Miss Falconer poured into his ears the story of the transformation of his beloved Herman the painter into Hyland Gilbert, a brother and leader among the Hawks of Hawk-Hollow, he seemed for a moment, like the devotee, rapt in a holier passion, to have Forgot himself to marble. In the meanwhile the unlucky author of this commotion had brought his destinies to a crisis in another quarter, and with another individual. CHAPTER II. "Not all the wealth of Eastern kings;" said she, "Has power to part my plighted love and me." DRYDEN. The painter had long since made his way to Gilbert's Folly. As he hurried through the park, he discerned the figure of Miss Falconer; and notwithstanding the obscurity of the hour, he knew her at once, and avoided her. There was a moon in the sky, but new, and low in the west; and, besides, it was struggling with clouds that robbed it of half its lustre; yet it cast ever and anon light enough to enable a good eye to distinguish objects on the more open portions of the lawn. Not a little pleased at the prospect, thus offered, of enjoying a _tête à tête_ with the Captain's daughter, though it might be only for a moment, he entered the house and the little saloon in which he had spent so many happy moments. It was empty, but the door leading to the garden was open, and the broad gravel-walk, fringed with low shrubs and roses, was lighted by the taper in the apartment. As he stepped out, his eye fell upon Catherine Loring, who was that moment approaching from the garden, her step hurried, and her countenance displaying agitation, which was increased the moment she beheld him.