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"What is the matter? What can I do to help you?" he asked.

Just as she was about to reply, the curtain was lifted; a man bounded suddenly over Ivon, and reached the centre of the hut. It was the spy; the Breton suddenly aroused, flung himself on him, but the Indian held him back with a firm hand.

"Look out!" he said.

"Red Wolf!" the girl exclaimed, joyfully, as she stepped before him; "lower your weapons, it is a friend."

"Speak!" the Count said, as he returned the pistol to his belt.

The Indian had made no attempt to defend himself; he awaited stoically the moment to explain himself.

"Natah Otann is coming," he said to the maiden.

"Oh! I am lost if he find me here."

"What do I care for the fellow?" the Count said, haughtily.

"Prudence," Bright-eye interposed; "are you a friend, Redskin?"

"Ask Prairie-Flower," he answered, disdainfully.

"Good; then you have come to save her?"

"Yes."

"You have a way?"

"I have."

"I don't understand anything about it," Ivon said to himself, aside, quite confounded by all he saw; "what a night!"

"Make haste!" said the Count.

"Neither Prairie-Flower nor myself must be seen here," the Red Wolf continued; "Natah Otann is my enemy; there is deadly war between us. Throw all those furs on the girl."

Prairie-Flower, crouching in a corner, soon disappeared beneath the skins piled over her.

"Hum! it is a good idea," Bright-eye muttered: "and what are you going to do?"

"Look!"

Red Wolf leaned against the buffalo hides that acted as door, and concealed himself amid their folds. Hardly had all this been done, ere Natah Otann appeared on the threshold.

"What! up already?" he said, in surprise, turning a suspicious glance around him.

Red Wolf profited by this movement to go out unseen by the Chief.

"I am come to receive your orders for the hunt," Natah Otann resumed.

CHAPTER XVII
FORT MACKENZIE

Fort Mackenzie, built in 1832 by Major Mitchell, Chief Agent to the North American Fur Company, stands like a menacing sentry, about one hundred and twenty paces from the north bank of the Missouri, and seventy miles from the Rocky Mountains, in the midst of a level plain, protected by a chain of hills running from north to south. The fort is built on the system of all the outposts of civilization in the western provinces; it forms a perfect square, each side being about forty-five feet in length: a ditch, eight fathoms in depth and about the same in width; two substantial blockhouses; and twenty guns – such are the defensive elements of this fortress. The buildings contained in the enceinte are low, with narrow windows, in which parchment is substituted for glass. The roofs are flat, and covered with turf. The gateways of the fort are solid, and lined with iron. In the middle of a small square, in the centre of the fort, rises a mast, from which floats the star-spangled banner of the United States, while two guns are stationed at the foot of the mast. The plain surrounding Fort Mackenzie is covered with grass, rarely more than three feet high. This plain is almost constantly invaded by Indian tribes, that come to traffic with the Americans, especially the Blackfeet, Assiniboins, Mandans, Flatheads, Gros-ventres, Crows, and Koutnikés.

The Indians displayed a repugnance in allowing the white men to settle in their domains, and the first agent the Fur Company sent to them had a narrow escape with life. It was only by dint of patience and cunning that they succeeded in concluding with the tribes a treaty of peace and barter, which the latter were disposed, indeed, to break, through the slightest pretext. Thus the Americans were always on the watch, considering themselves in a perpetual state of siege. It still happened at times, in spite of the Indians' protestations of amity, that some engagé or trapper of the Company was brought to the fort scalped and murdered, and they were obliged, through policy, to refrain from taking vengeance for such murders, which, however, were becoming rare. The Indians, with their greedy instincts, at length understood that it was better to live in good intelligence with the Palefaces, who supplied them with abundant provisions, spirits, and money, in exchange for their furs.

In 1834, Fort Mackenzie was commanded by Major Melville, a man of great experience, who had spent nearly his whole life among the Indians, either fighting or trafficking with them, so that he was thoroughly versed in all their habits and tricks. General Jackson, in whose army he had served, put great reliance in his courage, skill, and experience. Major Melville combined with uncommon moral energy rare physical strength; he was the very man to keep in check the fierce tribes with which he had to deal, and to command the trappers and hunters in the Company's service, thorough ruffians, only understanding the logic of the rifle and the bowie knife; he based his authority on inflexible severity and an irreproachable justice, which had contributed greatly to maintain the good relations between the inhabitants of the fort and their crafty friends. Peace, with the exception of the mutual distrust that was its basis, appeared for some few years past to be solidly established between the Palefaces and the Redskins. The Indians camped annually before the fort, and generally exchanged their peltry for spirits, clothes, gunpowder, &c. The seventy men who formed the garrison had gradually relaxed their usual precautions, for they felt so confident of having induced the Indians to renounce their plundering inclinations by kind treatment and concessions. Such was the respective positions of the whites and the Redskins on the day when the exigencies of our story take us to Fort Mackenzie.

The scenery round the fort is exquisite and charmingly varied. On the day after that in which the events we have described took place in the Kenha village, a leather canoe, manned by only one rower, descended the Elk river, in the direction of the American fort. After following the numerous bends of the stream, the canoe at length entered the Missouri, and coasted the northern bank, studded with magnificent prairies at least thirty miles in depth, on which countless herds of buffaloes, antelopes, and bighorns were grazing, which, with ears erect and startled eyes, watched the silent boat pass with gloomy dissatisfaction. But the person, man or woman, in the boat seemed too anxious to reach the destination, to waste any time in firing at these animals, which it would have been easy to do.

With his eyes imperturbably fixed ahead, and bowed over the paddles, the rower redoubled his energy the nearer he approached the fort, uttering at times hoarse exclamations of anger and impatience, though never checking the speed of the boat. At length an "ah!" of satisfaction escaped his lips on turning one of the numberless bends of the river: a magnificent scene was suddenly displayed before him.

Gentle slopes, with varied summits, some rounded, others flat, of a pleasant green colour, occupied the centre of the picture. In the foreground were tall forests of poplars of a vivid green, and willow trees on the banks of the river, which meandered through a prairie to which the twilight had given a deep olive hue. A little further on, on the top of a grassy mound, stood Fort Mackenzie, where the handsome flag of the United States floated in the breeze, gilded by the parting beams of the setting sun; while on one side an Indian camp, on the other, herds of horses, tranquilly grazing, animated the majestic tranquillity of the scene.

The canoe drew nearer and nearer to the bank, and at last, when arrived under the protection of the guns, was run gently ashore. The individual occupying it then leaped on the sand, and it was easy to see that it was a woman. It was the mysterious being to whom the Indians gave the name of the She-wolf of the Prairies, and who has already appeared twice in this story. She had altered her dress. Although still resembling that of the Indians in texture, as it was composed of elk and buffalo skins sown together, it varied from it in shape; and if, at the first glance, it was difficult to recognize the sex of the person wearing it, it was easy to perceive that it was a white, through the simplicity, cleanliness, and, above all, the amplitude of the folds carefully draped round the strange being hidden in these garments.

After leaving the canoe, the She-wolf fastened it securely to a large stone, and without paying further attention to it, walked hastily in the direction of the fort. It was about six in the evening; the barter with the Indians was over, and they were returning, laughing and singing, to their tents of buffalo hide; while the engagés, after collecting the horses, led them back slowly to the fort. The sun was setting behind the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, casting a purple gleam, over the heavens. Gradually, as the planet of day sank in the distant horizon, gloom took possession of the earth. The songs of the Indians, the shouts of the engagés, the neighing of the horses, and the barking of the dogs, formed one of those singular concerts which in these remote regions impress on the mind a feeling of melancholy reflection. The She-wolf reached the gate of the fort at the moment when the last engagé had entered, after driving in the laggards of his troop.

At these frontier posts, where momentary vigilance is necessary to foil the treachery constantly lurking in the shadows, sentinels especially appointed to survey the gloomy and solitary prairies, that stretch out for miles around their garrisons, stand watching day and night with their eyes fixed on space, ready to signalize the least unusual movement, either on the part of animals or of men, in the vast solitudes they survey. The She-wolf's canoe had been detected more than six hours before, all its movements carefully watched, and when the She-wolf, after fastening her boat up, presented herself at the gate of the fort, she found it closed and carefully bolted; not because she personally caused the garrison any alarm, but because the order was that no one should enter the fort after sunset, except for overpowering reasons.

The She-wolf repressed with difficulty a gesture of annoyance at finding herself thus exposed to spend the night in the open air; not that she feared the hardship, but because she knew the importance of her news, and desired no delay. She did not allow herself to be defeated, however, but stooped, picked up a stone, and struck the gate twice. A wicket immediately opened, and two eyes glistened through the opening it left.

"Who's there?" a rough voice asked.

"A friend," the She-wolf replied.

"Hum; that's very vague at this hour of the night," the voice continued, with a grin that augured ill for the success of the mediation the She-wolf had commenced.

"Who are you?"

"A woman, and a white woman too, as you can see by my dress and accent."

"It may be, but the night is dark, and it is impossible for me to see you: so if you have no better reasons to give, good night, and go your ways; tomorrow we will meet again at sunrise."

And the speaker prepared to close the wicket, but the She-wolf checked him with a firm hand.

"One moment," she said.

"What's up now?" the other remarked, ill-temperedly; "I cannot pass the night in listening to you."

"I only want to ask you one question, and one favour."

"Plague take it!" the man went on; "well, you are going on at a fine rate; that's nothing, eh? Well; let me hear it; that binds me to nothing."

"Is Major Melville in the fort at this moment?"

"Perhaps."

"Answer, yes or no."

"Well, yes; what then?"

The She-wolf gave a sigh of satisfaction, hurriedly drew a ring from her right hand, and passing it through the wicket to the unknown speaker, said —

"Carry that ring to the Major; I will wait for your answer here."

"Mind what you are about; the Commandant does not like to be disturbed for nothing."

"Do as I tell you. I answer for the rest."

"That's a poor bail," the other growled; "but no matter – I'll risk it. Wait."

The wicket closed. The She-wolf seated herself on the side of the moat, and with elbows resting on her knees, buried her head in her hands. By this time night had completely set in; in the distance, the fires lighted up by the Indians on the prairies shone like lighthouses through the gloom; the evening breeze soughed hoarsely through the tops of the trees, and the howls of the wild beasts were mingled at intervals with the strident laughter of the Indians. Not a star sparkled in the sky, which was black as ink; nature seemed covered with a cerecloth; all presaged an approaching storm. The She-wolf waited, motionless, as one of those patient sphynxes which have watched for thousands of years at the entrance of the Egyptian temples. A quarter of an hour elapsed, then a sound of bolts was heard, and the gates of the fort slightly opened. The She-wolf sprung up, as if moved by a spring.

"Come!" a voice said.

She entered, and the door was immediately closed after her. An engagé– the same who had spoken to her through the wicket – stood before her with a torch in his hand.

"Follow me," he said to her.

She walked after her guide, who crossed the entire length of the courtyard, and then turning to the She-wolf, said —

"The Major is waiting for you here."

"Rap," she said.

"No, do so yourself; you no longer need me; I will return to my post."

And, after bowing slightly, he withdrew carrying the torch with him. The She-wolf remained alone in the darkness; she passed her hand over her damp forehead, and making a supreme effort —

"I must," she muttered, hoarsely.

She then struck the door.

"Come in," a voice said from within.

She turned the key, pushed open the door, and found herself in the presence of an elderly man, dressed in uniform, and seated near a table, who gazed fixedly at her. This man, by the position he occupied, and the way in which the light was arranged, could see her perfectly; while, on the other hand, the She-wolf could not distinguish his features, hidden as they were by the gloom. The She-wolf walked resolutely into the room.

"Thanks for having received me," she said; "I was afraid you had utterly forgotten."

"If that is meant for a reproach, I do not understand you," the officer said, sternly; "and I should feel obliged by a clear explanation."

"Are you not Major Melville?"

"I am."

"The way in which I entered the fort proves to me that you recognised the ring I sent you."

"I recognized it; for it reminds me of a very dear person," he said, with a suppressed sigh; "but how is it in your hands?"

The She-wolf regarded the Major sadly for a moment, then walked up to him, gently took his hand, which she pressed in hers, and replied, with an accent full of tears —

"Harry, I must be changed by suffering, if you do not even recognise my voice."

At these words a livid pallor covered the officer's face; he rose with a movement quick as lightning; his body was agitated by a convulsive tremor, and seizing, in his turn, the woman's hands, he exclaimed madly —

"Margaret! Margaret! my sister! Have the dead come from the tomb? Do I find you again at last:"

"Ah!" she said, with an expression of joy impossible to render, as she sank in his arms, "I was certain he would recognise me."

But the shock she had received was too strong for the poor woman, whose organization was worn out by sorrow; accustomed to suffering, she could not endure joy, and fell fainting into her brother's arms. The Major carried her to a species of sofa that occupied one side of the room, and, without calling anyone to his aid, paid her all that attention her case required. The She-wolf remained for a long time insensible; but she gradually came to herself again, opened her eyes, and, after muttering a few incoherent words, burst into tears. Her brother did not leave her for a moment, following, with an anxious glance, the progress of her return to life. When he perceived that the height of the crisis was past, he took chair, sat down by his sister's side, and by gentle words sought to restore her courage. At length, the poor woman raised her head, dried her eyes – reddened by tears, and hollowed by fever – and turning to her brother, who watched her every movement, said in a hoarse voice —

"Brother, for sixteen years I have been suffering an atrocious martyrdom, which never ceased for an instant."

The Major shuddered at this fearful revelation.

"Poor sister!" he muttered. "What can I do for you?"

"All, if you will."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, with energy, as he struck the woodwork of the sofa with his fist, "could you doubt me, Margaret?"

"No, since I have come," she answered, smiling through her tears.

"You will avenge yourself, I think?" he went on.

"I will."

"Who are your enemies?"

"The Redskins."

"Ah! ah!" he said, with a bitter smile; "I, too, have an old account to settle with those demons. To what nation do your enemies belong?"

"To the Blackfeet. They are the Kenha tribe."

"Oh," the Major continued, "my old friends, the Blood Indians; I have long been seeking a pretext to give them an exemplary punishment."

"That pretext I now bring you, Harry," she answered, passionately; "and do not fancy it a vain pretext invented by hatred. No, no! 'tis the revelation of a plot formed by all the Missouri Indians against the whites, which must break out within a few days, perhaps tomorrow."

"Ah!" the Major observed, thoughtfully, "I do not know why, but, for the last few days, suspicions have invaded, my mind; my presentiments did not deceive me, then. Speak, sister, at once, I conjure you; and since you have come to me, in order to appease your hatred of these red devils, I promise you a vengeance, the memory of which will make their grandsons shudder."

"I thank you for your promise, brother, and will not forget it," she answered. "Listen to me, then."

"One word first."

"Speak, brother."

"Has the narrative of your sufferings any connexion with the conspiracy you are about to reveal to me?"

"An intimate one."

"Well, it is scarce ten o'clock, we have the night before us; tell me all that has happened to you since our separation."

"You wish it?"

"Yes, for it will be by your narrative that I shall regulate my treatment of the Indians."

"Listen, then, brother, and be indulgent to me, for I have suffered bitterly, as you are about to hear."

The Major pressed her hand; he took a chair, sat by her side, and after bolting the door, to prevent any interruption of the story, he said —

"Speak, Margaret, and tell me everything; I do not wish to be ignorant of any of the tortures you have endured during the long years that have elapsed since our parting."

CHAPTER XVIII
A MOTHER'S CONFESSION

"It is just seventeen years ago, you will remember, Harry; you had recently received your commission as lieutenant in the army; you were young, enthusiastic; the future appeared to you to be drawn in the brightest colours. One evening, during weather like the present, you came to my husband's clearing, to tell us the news, and bid us an affectionate farewell; for you hoped, like ourselves, not to be long away from us. The next morning, in spite of our entreaties, after embracing the children, pressing the hand of my poor husband, who loved you so, and giving me a parting kiss, you galloped off, and soon disappeared in a whirlwind of dust. Alas! who could have foretold that we should not meet again till today, after seventeen years' separation, upon Indian territory, and under terrible circumstances? However," she added, with a sigh, "God has willed it so, may His holy name be blessed! It has pleased Him to try His creatures, and let His hand fall heavily on them."

"It was with a strange contraction of the heart," the Major said, "that six months after that parting, when I returned among you with a joyous heart, I saw, on dismounting in front of your house, a stranger open your door, and answer, that the white family had emigrated three months before, and proceeded in a western direction, with the intention of founding a new settlement on the Indian frontier. It was in vain that I tried to gain any information about you from your neighbours; they had forgotten you; no one could or would, perhaps, give me the slightest news about you, and I was forced to retrace, heartbroken, the road I had ridden along so joyfully a few days before. Since then, despite all the efforts I have made, I never was able to learn anything about your fate, or lift the mysterious veil that covered the sinister events to which I was convinced you had fallen victims during your journey."

"You are only half deceived, my brother, in your supposition," she went on. "Two months after your visit, my husband, who had long desired to leave our clearing, where he said the land was worth nothing, had a grave dispute with one of his neighbours about the limits of a field of which he believed, or pretended to believe, that neighbour had cut off a corner: under any other circumstances, the difference would have been easily settled, but my husband sought an excuse to go away, and having found it, did not let it slip again. He would listen to nothing, but quietly made all his arrangements for the expedition he had so long meditated, and at length told us one day that he should start the next. When my husband had once said a thing, all I could do was to obey, for he never recalled a determination he had formed. On the appointed day at sunrise, we left the clearing, our neighbours accompanying us for the first day's journey, and at nightfall left us, after hearty wishes for the success of our expedition. It was with inexpressible sorrow I quitted the house where I was married, where my children were born, and where I had been happy for so many years. My husband tried in vain to console me, and restore me that courage which failed me; but nothing could efface from my mind the gentle and pious recollections I previously kept up: the deeper we buried ourselves in the desert, the greater my sorrow became. My husband, on the other hand saw everything in a bright light; the future belonged to him; he was about to be his own master, and act as he thought proper. He detailed to me all his plans, tried to interest me in them, and employed all the means in his power to draw me from my gloomy thoughts, but could not succeed. Still we went onwards without stopping. The distance became daily greater between ourselves and the last settlements of our countrymen. In vain did I show my husband how remote we were from all help in case of danger, and the isolation in which we should find ourselves; he only laughed at my apprehensions; repeated incessantly that the Indians were far from being so dangerous as they were represented, and that we had nothing to fear. My husband was so convinced of the truth of his assertions, that he neglected the most simple precautions to defend himself against a surprise, and said each morning, with a mocking air, at the moment of starting, 'You see how foolish you are, Margaret; be reasonable, the Indians will be careful not to insult us,' One night the camp was attacked by the Redskins, we were surprised during our sleep; my husband was flayed alive, while his children were burned at a slow fire before his face."

While uttering these words, the poor woman's voice became more and more choked. At the last sentences, her emotion grew so profound, that she could not continue.

"Courage!" the Major said, as much moved as herself, but more master of his feelings.

She made an effort, and continued in a harsh, unmodulated voice, —

"By a refinement of cruelty, the barbarism of which I did not at first understand, my youngest child, my daughter, was spared by the Pagans. On seeing the punishment of my husband and children, at which I was forced to be present, I felt such a laceration of the heart, that I imagined I was dying. I uttered a shriek, and fell down. How long I remained in that state, I know not: but when I regained my senses, I was alone. The Indians, doubtlessly, fancied me dead, and left me where I lay. I rose, and not conscious of what I was doing, but impelled by a force superior to my will, I returned, tottering and falling almost at every step, to the spot where this mournful tragedy had been enacted. It took me three hours – how was I so far from the camp? – at length I arrived, and a fearful sight presented itself to my horror-struck eyes. I looked unconscious upon the disfigured and half carbonized bodies of my children – my despair, however, restored my failing strength. I dug a grave, and, half delirious with grief, buried in it husband and children, all that I loved on earth. This pious duty accomplished, I resolved to die at the spot where the beings so dear to me had perished. But there are hours during the long nights in which the shades of the dead address the living, and order them to take vengeance! That terrific voice from the tomb I heard on a sinister night, when the elements threatened to overthrow nature. From that moment my resolution was formed. I consented to live for revenge. From that hour I have walked firm and implacable on the path I traced, requiting the Pagans, on every opportunity that presents itself, for the evil they had done me. I have become the terror of the prairies. The Indians fear me as an evil genius. They have a superstitious invincible dread of me; in short, they have surnamed me the Lying She-wolf of the Prairies; for each time a catastrophe menaces them, or a frightful danger is hanging over their heads, they see me appear. For seventeen years I have been nursing my revenge, without ever growing discouraged, certain that the day will come when, in my turn, I shall plant my knee on the heart of my enemies, and inflict on them the atrocious torture they condemned me to suffer."

The woman's face, while uttering these words, had assumed such an expression of cruelty, that the Major brave as he was, felt himself shudder.

"And your enemies," he said, after a moment's delay, "do you know them, have you learned their names?"

"I know them all!" she said, in a piercing voice; "I have learned all their names!"

"And they are preparing to break the peace?" Mrs. Margaret smiled ironically.

"No, they will not break the peace, brother, but attack you suddenly. They have formed among themselves a formidable league, which – at least they fancy so – you will find it impossible to resist."

"Sister!" the Major exclaimed energetically, "give me the name of these wretched traitors, and I swear that, even were they concealed in the depths of Hades, I will seek them, to inflict an exemplary chastisement."

"I cannot give you these names yet, brother; but be at ease, you shall soon know them; you will not have to seek them far, for I will lead them under the guns of your soldiers and hunters."

"Take care, Margaret," the Major said, shaking his head, "hatred is a bad counsellor in an affair like this; he who grasps at too much, frequently risks the loss of all."

"Oh," she replied, "my precautions have been taken for a long time: I hold them, I can seize them whenever I please, or, to speak more correctly, when the moment has arrived."

"Do as you think proper, sister, and reckon on my devoted aid: this vengeance affects me too closely for me to allow it to escape."

"Thanks," she said.

"Pardon me," he continued, after a few minutes' reflection, "if I revert to the sad events you have just narrated; but you have, it strikes me, forgotten an important detail in your story."

"I do not understand you, Harry."

"I will explain: you said, I think, if my memory serves me, that your youngest daughter escaped from the frightful fate of her brothers, and was saved by an Indian."

"Yes, I did say so, brother," she replied in an oppressed voice.

"Well, what has become of the unhappy child? Does she still live? Have you any news of her? Have you seen her again?"

"She lives, and I have seen her."

"Ah!"

"Yes; the man who saved her educated her, even adopted her," she said, sarcastically. "Do you know what this wretch would do with the daughter of the man he murdered, whom he flayed alive before my eyes?"

"Speak; in Heaven's name!

"What I have to say is very dreadful! it is so frightful, indeed, that I hesitate to reveal it to you."

"Good God!" the Major ejaculated, recoiling involuntarily before his sister's flaming glance.

"Well," she continued, with a strident laugh, "this girl has grown up, the child has become a woman, as lovely as it is possible to be. This man, this monster, this demon, has felt his tiger heart soften at the sight of the angel; he loves her to distraction, he wishes to make her his wife."

"Horror!" the Major exclaimed.

"Is that not truly hideous?" she continued, still with that nervous, spasmodic laugh which it pains one to hear: "he has pardoned his victim's daughter. Yes, he is generous, he forgets the atrocious torture he inflicted on the father, and now covets the daughter."

"Oh, that is frightful, Margaret; so much infamy and cynicism is impossible, even among Indians!"

"Do you believe, then, that I am deceiving you?"

"Far from me be such a thought, sister; the man is a monster."

"Yes, yes, so he is."

"You have seen your daughter; you have talked with her?"

"Yes; well, what then?"

"You have, doubtless, turned her from this monstrous love?"

"I!" she replied, with a grin, "I did not say a word to her about it."

"What!" he said, in amazement.

"By what right could I have spoken?"

"How, by what right – Are you not her mother?"

"She does not know it!"

"Oh!"

"And my vengeance?" she said, coldly. This word which so thoroughly explained the character of the woman, had before struck the heart of the old soldier with terror.

"Unhappy woman!" he exclaimed.

A smile of disdain curled the She-wolf's lip.

"Yes, so you are," she said, with a bitter voice, "you men of cities, with natures worn out by civilization. To understand a passion, it must be kept within certain limits, traced beforehand. The grandeur of hatred, with all its fury and excesses, terrifies you; you only admit that legal and halting vengeance which the criminal code sanctions. Brother, he who wishes the end, wishes the means. To arrive at my object, what do I care, do you think, whether I walk over ruins or wade through blood? No, I go straight before me, with the fatal impetuosity of the torrent which breaks down and overthrows all the obstacles which rise in its passage. My object is vengeance! blood for blood, eye for eye; that is the law of the prairies. I have made it mine, and I will obtain that vengeance, if for it I – . But," she added, suddenly breaking off, "what need of this useless discussion between us, brother? Reassure yourself my daughter has been better warned by her instincts than all the advice I could have given her. She does not love this man. I know it, she told me so; she will never love him."