"An Indian I knew, called Quider, and having only one arm, took hold of Mr. Fonda and led him from the library and out to the lawn, where I could see them both through the west window. The Indian acted kind to the old gentleman, gave him his hat and his book and cane, and conducted him south across the lawn. I could see it all plainly through the wainscot crack. "Then, of a sudden, the one-armed Indian swung his hatchet and clove that helpless and bewildered old man clean down to his neck cloth. And there, before all assembled, he took the old man's few white hairs for a scalp! "Then a green-coat called out to ask why he had slain such an old and feeble man, who had often befriended him; and the one-armed Indian, Quider, replied that if he hadn't killed Douw Fonda somebody else might have done so, and so he, Quider, thought he'd do it and get the scalp-bounty for himself. "And all this time the Indians and green-coats were running like wild wolves all over the house, stealing, destroying, yelling, flinging out books from the library shelves, ripping off curtains and bed-covers, flinging linen from chests, throwing crockery about, and keeping up a continual screeching. "Sir, I do not know why they did not set fire to the house. I do not know how my hiding place remained unnoticed. "From where I kneeled on the closet floor, and my face all over blood, I could see Mistress Grant across the room, sitting on a sofa, whither the cursing green-coat had flung her. She was deathly white but calm, and did not seem afraid; and she answered the filthy beasts coolly enough when they addressed her. "Then a big chair, which they had ripped up to look for money, was pushed against my closet, and the back of it closed the wainscot crack, so that I could no longer see Mistress Grant. "And that is all I know, sir. For the firing began again outside; they all ran out, and when I dared creep forth Mistress Grant was gone.... And I lay still for a time, and then found a jug o' rum. When I could stand up I followed the destructives at a distance. And, an hour since, I saw the last stragglers crossing the river rifts some three miles above us.... And that is all, I think, sir." * * * * * And that was all.... The end of all things.... Or so it seemed to me. For now I cared no longer for life. The world had become horrible; the bright sunshine seemed a monstrous sacrilege where it blazed down, unveiling every detail of this ghastly Golgotha--this valley in ashes now made sacred by my dear love's martyrdom. Slowly I looked around me, still stupefied, helpless, not knowing where to seek my dead, which way to turn. And now my dulled gaze became fixed upon the glittering river, where something was moving.... And presently I realize it was a batteau, poled slowly shoreward by two tall riflemen in their fringes. "Holloa! you captain-mon out yonder!" bawled one o' them, his great voice coming to me through his hollowed hand.