The murderers had left, doubtless disappointed that, their prey was so small; and in the first moments of agony, the bereaved parents wished that they too had fallen victims to their fiendish rage. Emily was dead, certainly dead! The fresh blood, the lock of hair, proved it only too clearly; her body had been consumed by the flames. The light of their lives had been put out, the glory had passed away from their sky, and they must now go mourning all their days; they felt as did a parent in the olden time, whose words are recorded in Scripture, "If I am bereaved of my children, I am bereaved." One little hour had changed the aspect of the whole earth to them. And yet, broken-hearted as they were, they must act: not now could they fold their hands in despair. Soon was the news of the Indian rising spread among the settlers; and while all flew to arms, and joined in the necessary preparations, tears fell from eyes that were never known to weep before, and rough men spoke soothing words to the mourners; for little Emily was known and loved by all for miles around, and many said "she need not change much to be made an angel." It was agreed that with the earliest dawn, when the women and children were safely disposed of, they should meet at the ruins of the Hopedale Cottage, so was it called, and follow the trail of the savages through the woods; some sanguine spirits, chief among whom was little Roland Markley, still asserted that Emily might live, and have been carried away into captivity; but her parents could not so deceive themselves--that lock of hair had convinced them of her death; hope could not enter their hearts, it had died with Emily. One entire day did the Indian-hunters follow in the trail and came upon the spot where their enemies had encamped; and there, three trails in different directions, looked as if the savages had scattered. What was to be done? To follow all was impossible, as their own force was a small one; and meantime night had come on, wrapping all things in her mantle of secrecy, and fatigue required them to rest their weary frames. Setting a watch, and lighting a fire, with loaded rifles within reach, they slept; such a sleep as men can take, when they dream of a red hand at their throats, and a tomahawk glancing before their eyes. Light hearts make heavy sleep; but such a deed as had been committed in the midst of them, makes men start from their slumbers if but a cricket chirps, or a withered leaf falls to the ground.