How could they have eluded the malignant vengeance of their savage foes? Who could have warned them? Ah, me! in spite of the unaccountable hope which I feel, my own sense tells me, that there are no grounds for it. Sad is the fate of the unprotected at this time."
"Fact, by gracious!"
Graham started as though he had been shot, and gazed around. A few yards off he could just discover the outlines of a man, standing as if he were contemplating himself.
"And who are you?" he asked, "that appears upon this spot at such a time?"
"I am Seth Jones, from New Hampshire. Who mought be you that happens down in these parts at this pertickler time?"
"Who am I? I am Everard Graham, a friend of the man whose house is in ruins, and who, I fear, has been slaughtered with his family."
"Exactly so; but don't speak so loud. There mought be others about, you know. Jist let's step back here where 'taint likely we'll be obsarved."
The speaker retreated into the darkness, while Graham followed him. At first he had had some slight misgivings, but the tones and voice of the stranger reassured him, and he followed him without distrust or hesitation.
"You say you're a friend of Haverland's, eh?" asked Seth in a whisper.
"I am, sir; I was acquainted with him before he moved out in these parts. He was an intimate friend of my father's, and I promised to pay him a visit as soon as I could possibly do so, and I am here for that purpose."
"Jest so, but you took a rayther ticklish time for it, I reckon."
"So it seems; but, if I wished to wait till it would be perfectly safe, I am afraid my visit would never be made."
"Fact, by gracious!"
"But allow me to ask whether you know any thing of the family?"
"I reckon that, perhaps, it mought be possible I do, seeing as how I've been around these times."
"Are they slain, or captives?"
