What, meantime, had been her fate? On that eventful evening she lay upon her little crib, in a darkened corner of the room, buried in the sweet slumber of childhood and innocence. The savage yells did not disturb her, she peacefully slept on; angels must have guarded her bed when a fierce Indian, with bloody tomahawk in hand, rushed into the room, but saw her not in her little nest, and returned to his comrades, reporting that all the rest of the inhabitants had fled. Determined to do all the mischief in their power, they set fire to the house and barns, and then pushed off into the woods, to seek new victims in the unoffending Moravian settlement of Guadenhutten. Little Emily was first awakened by a suffocating heat and smoke, and by the crackling of the flames: she screamed aloud to her father for help, and tried to approach the stairs, but the blinding smoke and the quickly spreading fire drove her back. Just then, a tall and noble form, arrayed in Indian garb, forced a passage through the raging flames and among the falling rafters, and guided by her cries, sought her chamber, caught her in his arms, and rushed down to the outer air. Not without peril to both: the arm which encircled her was burnt so as to bear the scar ever after, but still it sustained its precious burden, and the little girl was unharmed, save that some of her long golden tresses, hanging loosely behind her, were severed from her head by the fire: hence the lock of hair that remained unconsumed, convincing her friends of her death. And who was her brave preserver? Towandahoc, Great Black Eagle, the friend of the pale faces! The secret plans of his tribe had been kept from his ears, from the fear that he might betray them to the unsuspecting whites; and it was not until after the expedition had departed for the banks of the Susquehanna, that he learned their hostile intentions towards his friends. He lost no time, but followed rapidly in their steps, hoping by his representations to induce his people to give up their murderous purpose, or perhaps, by a short but difficult route through the mountains, to reach the cottage of Hopedale before them. But hate is as swift as love in its flight, and as he approached the spot, and saw the flames mounting up to the sky, he thought himself too late, and the work of murder and of destruction complete. Just then he heard little Emily's cries, and rushed in at the peril of his life, to save the child.