"More than saw it: I heard of his faithlessness. Did not she herself declare it--in Swampville? elsewhere!--boasted of it even to my own sister! More still: another was witness to his vile conduct--had often seen him in her company. Ha! little dreamed he, while dallying in the woods with his red-skinned squaw, that the earth has ears and the trees have tongues. The deceiver did not think of that!" "Fair Marian, they are foul calumnies; and whoever has given utterance to them did so to deceive you. Who, may I ask, was that other witness who has so misled you!" "Oh! it matters not now--another villain like himself--one who--O God! I cannot tell you the horrid history--it is too black to be believed." "Nay, you may tell it me. I half know it already; but there are some points I wish explained--for your sake--for Wingrove's--for the sake of your sister--" "My sister! how can it concern her? Surely it does not? Explain your meaning, sir." I endeavoured to avoid the look of earnest inquiry that was turned upon me. I was not yet prepared to enter upon the explanation. "Presently," I said, "you shall know all that has transpired since your departure from Tennessee. But first tell me of yourself. You have promised me? I ask it not from motives of idle curiosity. I have freely confessed to you my love for your sister Lilian. It is that which has brought me here--it is that which impels me to question you." "All this is mystery to me," replied the huntress, with a look of extreme bewilderment. "Indeed, sir, you appear to know all--more than I--but in regard to myself, I believe you are disinterested, and I shall willingly answer any question you may think proper to ask me. Go on! I shall conceal nothing." "Thanks!" said I. "I think I can promise that you shall have no reason to regret your confidence." CHAPTER EIGHTY FOUR. PLAYING CONFESSOR. I was not without suspicion as to the motive of her _complaisance_: in fact, I understood it. Despite the declamatory denial she had given to its truth, my defence of Wingrove, I saw, had made an impression upon her. It had no doubt produced pleasant reflections; and rendered myself indirectly an object of gratitude. It was natural that such kindness should be reciprocated. My own intent in "confessing" the girl was twofold. First, on Wingrove's account: for, notwithstanding all that had been said and done, her love for him _might have passed_. If so, instead of that happy reunion of two loving hearts, which I had anticipated bringing about, I should be the witness of a most painful interview. Without further delay, I entered upon the theme. My interrogatories were answered with candid freedom. The answers proved that what the Mexican had told me was true to the letter. "And did your father force you to this marriage?" The reply was given hesitatingly. It was in the affirmative. "He did." "For what reason did he so?"