“Ned—thank God! I am in time!” gasped the maiden, dropping upon her knees beside the pallet. “Think what I must have suffered. I have heard every thing that was said here. I heard the lies they told you, and had no power to deny then, for I was bound hand and foot and gagged.” As she spoke, Fannie with trembling fingers strove to release her lover, but the hard-knotted cords resisted her efforts. “Fannie, my poor darling, you can do no good without a knife. There must be some lying in the outer room—those we used for breakfast. You will not be afraid to look?” “Not when it is for you,” she bravely returned, and gliding through the passage, she quickly secured what she sought, together with a brace of pistols that she had snatched from the table. “My precious darling!” murmured Campbell, as the cords yielded to the keen weapon, and springing to his feet he clasped Fannie to his wildly throbbing heart; but fortunately she was the more composed of the two. “Take the pistols, Ned. You may need them. Now—we have no time to lose. Come—you must help me set Fred free. He is kept a prisoner in here, too. Hasten—” “Too late! Back, Fannie—get behind me,” hastily muttered Campbell, as the echo of a quick step came to their ears from the outer chamber. A simultaneous cry followed the appearance of the figure, and Campbell’s pistol muzzle slightly fell as he saw it covered the heart of the strange girl, Lola Mestayer. “You free?” she cried, in amazement; “but come—there’s no time to lose. You must meet my father, but it is the only chance. The Indians are coming up like the wind. You can hide in—my God! who is that?” she abruptly added, for the first time observing the shrinking figure of Fannie. “My promised wife—the one you so falsely swore was dead,” sternly replied Campbell. “It was for love of you that I lied—but I will make my words good!” hissed the maddened girl, as her bright pistol was leveled toward Fannie. The report followed swiftly, but the low exclamation that broke the air came not from the maiden’s lips. Campbell had sprung before his love, himself receiving the bullet. His left arm swung helpless at his side. “Forgive me—oh, forgive me!” cried Lola, as she observed the effect of her mad act. “I would rather that bullet had pierced my heart than to harm _you_!” A hoarse cry came echoing from without. The three inmates of the chamber experienced a thrill as they divined its purport. Mestayer had heard the confusion, and was coming to investigate it. Two clicks sounded through the chamber. Campbell cocked his pistols. So did Lola. The eyes of all were turned toward the entrance. They had not long to wait, for the next moment Mestayer burst into the chamber, his eyes ablaze, his hand clutching a revolver. “What is this—who set you free?” he cried, hoarsely, as he noticed Campbell standing erect, pale but defiant. “Ha! _you_ did—traitress!” and his pistol covered Lola’s heart.