Buckskin's solace scarcely calmed Mark's restlessness, and after the hunter's snores proved him in the realm of dreams, he arose with the idea of strolling through the moonlit village, and walking off the fancies that would not let him sleep. The lonely streets were wrapped in the pallid shine which silhouetted the log houses and the trees in ghostly shadows, and had it not been for the occasional howl of a distant wolf or the snarl of an Indian dog, he might have fancied himself the only waking creature. He wandered aimlessly, in a maze of fear and doubt what would be the outcome of it all. His careless footsteps finally carried him to the edge of the village, where, at the very shadow of the forest, stood a large double house apart from all the others. Then he saw he was not the only sleepless soul, for from its doorway glided a figure whose height and garb--for the moonlight glittered on the costly bead-work--showed it to be the one who filled his heart full to bursting. He forgot all prudence and doubt, and sprang forward swiftly. "Nellie! Nellie!" he cried, in tones that cut the silent air like a knife. "I am your brother Mark--your playmate that loved you so dearly. Come home with me to mammy, who is dying for you, away from this dreadful place. A long time ago they carried you away from us, and now I've found you again, and will not let you go, my darling little sister." He forgot all the surroundings--all but need of giving voice to the feeling that shook him as the wind shakes the leaves in the trees. Ma-za-ri-ta's face quivered in the starlight as she shrank from the hand that eagerly clutched her arm, as if he would have led her away at once; then something like half-awakened intelligence was quenched in a wave of blind terror, and she shrieked aloud. A tall figure leaped like a tiger from the dark of the doorway, and Mark felt the grip of iron fingers on his throat which threatened to strangle him. As he lay helpless in that clutch, he saw an upraised tomahawk sparkling in the moonshine; but Cornplanter did not strike, though his words were edged with cutting disdain. "Such is the honor of palefaces," said he; "from the cub to the full-grown wolf the same. The Senecas welcomed their guests and did them honor. Their hearts were warm and friendly, for it is now their festival of peace and goodwill. But what should they do to one who would steal in the dark, and rob them of their dearest?"