She had never heard of the vale of Enna nor her prototype who stooped to pluck "The fateful flower beside the rill, The daffodil! The daffodil!" as she sprang down to gather the blossoms. The stir in the woods did not alarm her. Her eyes were still over to the eastward drinking in that fine draught of celestial wine, the true nectar of life. A bird piped overhead. She laughed and answered him. Then a sudden darkness fell upon her, close, smothering. Her cry was lost in it. She was picked up, slung over some one's shoulder and borne onward by a swift trot. Her arms were fast, she could only struggle feebly. When at length she was placed on her feet and the blanket partly unrolled, she gave a cry. "Hush, hush!" said a rough voice in Chippewa. "If you make a noise we shall kill you and throw you into the lake. Be silent and nothing shall harm you." "Oh, let me go!" she pleaded. "Why do you want me?" The blanket was drawn over her head again. Another stalwart Indian seized her and ran on with such strides that it nearly jolted the breath out of her body, and the close smell of the blanket made her faint. When the second Indian released her she fell to the ground in a heap. "White Rose lost her breath, eh?" "You have covered her too close. We are to deliver her alive. The white brave will have us murdered if she dies." One of them brought some water from a stream near by, and it revived her. "Give me a drink!" she cried, piteously. Then she glanced at her abductors. Four fierce looking Indians, two unusually tall and powerful. To resist would be useless. "Whither are you going to take me?" A grunt was the only reply, and they prepared to envelop her again. "Oh, let me walk a little," she besought. "I am stiff and tired." "You will not give any alarm?" Who could hear in this wild, solitary place? "I will be quiet. Nay, do not put the blanket about me, it is so warm," she entreated. One of the Indians threw it over his shoulder. Two others took an arm with a tight grasp and commenced a quick trot. They lifted her almost off her feet, and she found this more wearying than being carried. "Do not go so fast," she pleaded. The Indian caught her up and ran again. Her slim figure was as nothing to him. But it was better not to have her head covered. There seemed a narrow path through these woods, a trail the Indians knew. Now and then they emerged from the woods to a more open space, but the sunlight was mostly shut out. Once more they changed and now they reached a stream and put down their burthen. "We go now in a canoe," began the chief spokesman. "If the White Rose will keep quiet and orderly no harm will come to her. Otherwise her hands and feet must be tied." Jeanne drew a long breath and looked from one to the other. Their faces were stolid. Questioning would be useless. "I will be quiet," she made answer.