“I often think that I am _not_ his daughter—that he is mad—a monomaniac, who does not know what he does or says. I overheard what he told you, for I feared that he meant to kill you, and I resolved to prevent that, if it cost my own life. It is the same story, almost word for word, that he has told me scores of times. But—whether that is true or not—I am not your enemy, since seeing you. Before, I hated you, because he taught me to do so. He made me believe that all men were evil, treacherous beings, but—I don’t think _you_ are,” and Lola drooped her eyes before the steady gaze of the young hunter. “What is your object in telling me this?” he asked, slowly. “To prove to you that I am a friend, not an enemy, as you seemed to regard me.” “_Will_ you prove this? You can, if you wish. Will you do it?” added Campbell, with ill-suppressed eagerness. “How can I?” softly, with a quick glance at him. “Easily. Unloosen these cords, restore my weapons, and I will believe that you are a true, earnest friend.” “So that you might kill my father?” “No. I would not harm him unless he first attacked me. Then I would defend myself.” “He would kill me!” “With me you would be safe. I will take you to any point you wish, or, if you would rather, my mother will welcome you to her home.” Their gaze met, but only for a moment, then the eyes of the strange girl sunk, and a low sigh fluttered her lips. The face of the young hunter, though open and earnest, had not told her the tale she wished and hoped to hear. “You asked my father about your friends. He gave you to understand that they were dead. One of them still lives.” “What—Fannie—” eagerly began Ned, his dark eyes gleaming. “No—the young man,” and Lola’s face turned a shade paler. “Merciful God!” groaned Campbell, quivering with intense heart-agony. “Then it is true, as you told father—you loved this girl?” “Better than my life! And now—but no—you are only trying me,” he added, looking up imploringly. “Tell me she is still living?” “Why should I lie to you? She is dead—but her blood is not on his hands. He fought to save her, but one of the men shot her, as he was bringing her here. The other—your friend, still lives, though badly wounded. Could I believe in your gratitude, I would set both yourself and him free.” “You crush all my hopes, then taunt me with freedom—I have nothing to live for now,” bitterly replied Ned. “Your mother?” “True, I forgot for a moment. Well, speak plain. What pledge do you require? What do you wish me to do?” he added, wearily. “Make me a solemn promise—pledge me your honor as a gentleman to make me your—your wife, and I will free you both.” “What!”