“No! keep it, child—it is a family ring,” said Roughgrove. “I will lend it to him—I know he will give it me again,” she continued, placing it in the extended hand of the young chief, who thanked her with his eyes, and resumed his seat. He now seemed to disregard every thing that was said or done, and only gazed at the ring, which he held first in one hand and then in the other, with the sparkling diamond uppermost. Sometimes he would press his forehead with his hand and cover his eyes, and then gaze at the ring again. Then staring wildly around, and slightly starting, he would bite his fingers to ascertain whether the scene was reality or a dream. Finally, giving vent to a piteous sigh, while a tear ran down his stained cheek, he placed his elbows upon his knees, and, bending forward, seemed to muse over some event of the past, which the jewel before him had called to remembrance. Glenn narrowly watched every look and motion of the young chief, and when Mary finished the account of her capture, he introduced the subject of the lost child, Mary’s brother, that Roughgrove had spoken about before starting in pursuit of the war-party. “I can remember him!” said Mary, “and mother, too—they are both in heaven now—poor brother! poor mother!” The young chief raised his head quickly, and staring at the maiden’s face, seemed to regard her tears and her features with an interest similar to that of a child when it beholds a rare and curious toy. “Has it not occurred to you,” said Glenn, addressing Roughgrove, “that this young chief might possibly be your own son?” “No!” replied the old man, promptly, and partially rising, “_he_ my son—_he_ Mary’s brother—and once in the act of plunging the tomahawk—” “But, father,” interrupted Mary, “he would never have harmed me—I know he would not—for every time he looked me in the face he seemed to pity me, and sometimes he almost wept to think I was away from my friends, among savages, cold and distressed. But I don’t think he can be my brother—my little brother I used to love so much—yet I could never think how he should have fallen in the river without my knowing it. Sometimes I remember it all as if it were yesterday. He was hunting wild violets—” “Oh! oh!” screamed the young chief, springing from his seat towards Mary. Fear, pain, apprehension, joy and affection, all seemed to be mingled in his heaving breast. “He’s crazy, dod”—the word died upon Sneak’s lip. “I should like to know who burnt his foot then,” said Joe. “Silence! both of you,” said Glenn. “What does he mean?” at length asked Roughgrove, staring at the young chief. “Let us be patient, and see,” said Glenn. Ere long the Indian turned his eyes slowly downward, and resumed his seat mournfully and in silence. “Oh!” said Mary, “if he _is_ my poor brother, my heart will burst to see him thus—a wild savage.” “How old are you, Mary?” asked Glenn. “Nineteen,” said she.