"We are off, madam. We only needed an inspiration to move us to endeavor." She bowed and smiled, as she said: "One thing I ask of you. Go as quickly as possible, for the sake of the frightened child, and the anxious mother." "In all possible haste," was the quick reply, and she turned to offer what comfort she might to the woman who seemed nearly distracted. * * * * * And all this time, what had been happening in the wood? For a long time Floretta had cried, screamed, and shouted, hoping that the boys would come back and release her. Then, when she knew that they must be too far away to hear her, she tore at the clasping bonds, trying in every way to free herself. With feet and hands she strove to loosen the tough, wiry vines, kicking and trampling with her restless feet, beating and bending with her little hands, until they were torn and bleeding, and the tormenting vines seemed only to hold her with a firmer grasp, as if to prove how useless was her struggle. [Illustration: WITH FEET AND HANDS SHE STROVE TO LOOSEN THE TOUGH, WIRY VINES.--_Page 119_.] She had cried until she could cry no more, and the sturdy vines had cut and bruised her. So firmly was she bound that she could not sink to the grass to rest, and she had only the hard, rocky ledge to lean against. How still the woodland seemed! Sometimes a twig would snap, or a buzzing insect would pause, as if to look at her, but no one came to set her free. She waited for a moment to regain her breath, and then again she fought and struggled with those tough, sturdy vines. She tried to wrench them apart, to break, to tear them from her, but they only yielded enough to bend, and then snap back into the very place that she had pushed them from. Not a vine broke, not a stem gave way, and she set her lips tightly for yet greater effort! CHAPTER VII FLORETTA'S RETURN AT a far corner of the piazza sat Dorothy, her eyes terrified, and her cheeks pale. Nancy, close beside her, wound her arms about her, and sought, in every way, to comfort her. "They'll find her soon, Dorothy, so don't you be frightened," she whispered. "They'll _surely_ find her soon." Dear little Nancy knew, better than any of Dorothy's other friends could have known, how ready was her sympathy, how kind and loving was her heart. She had not loved Floretta, but with Dorothy, that did not count. It was the dreadful fear that something had happened to a little girl, who, so recently had been at play with them,--ah, that was what grieved sweet Dorothy. She was thinking of what Mrs. Dainty had said to Aunt Charlotte when the mountain trip was first talked of.