Summary

Frederick Forest Iron Hand, Chief of the Tory League…

Is it thus you expect to be successful? You speak of love; yes, it is like that the hawk bears the dove, merely to toy with its victim for a time, then to rend it in pieces with its talons. Thank God! I have penetrated your disguise, and understand your villainous designs—I am no longer deceived. Your heart is black and treacherous, your soul stained with crimes innumerable, and honor has fled the breast of one so corrupted!”
The Tory chieftain drew back at the passionate energy of Imogene’s manner.
Source: Gutenberg

Frederick Forest Iron Hand, Chief of the Tory League…

In an instant, the dreadful Past, with all its woes and sorrows, was buried in the deepest recesses of oblivion, leaving the happy Present, as it were, like an insurmountable barrier between it and the bright and promising Future, which dawned fair and beautiful upon the horizon of their happiness.
Their more intimate friends—among whom were Colonel Hall and War-Cloud—pressed around the happy couple to [95] congratulate them, while the soldiers gave three hearty cheers for their brave captain and his lady, making the woods, hills, and valleys ring with the echo of a thousand voices.
Source: Gutenberg

Frederick Forest Iron Hand, Chief of the Tory League…

It is only the wandering of my disordered imagination, that turns every harmless tree into a robber, and every neighboring bush into the lurking-place of some concealed assassin. However, I must confess that when I first entered the forest, an indescribable feeling of dread seemed to chill my very blood; but I must scout such ideas, which if I do not, they will entirely unnerve me, and render me unfit to enter the presence of my father, who must not receive from me even the slightest suspicion of Edgar’s misfortune.
Source: Gutenberg

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