Now and then one of the men opened the door cautiously and peered out and listened. The reek of the smouldering village came in at the door, but there was not a sound except the whistling howl of the savage north wind, which still swept over the valley. There was not a shot to be heard from the meadows. The men discussed the wisdom of leaving the women for a short space and going forth to explore, but Widow Eunice Bishop interposed, thrusting her sharp face in among them. “Here we be,” scolded she, “a passel of women and children, and Hannah Sheldon and Mercy a-lying dead, and me with my house burnt down, and nothing saved except my silk hood and my looking-glass and my feather-bed, and it’s a mercy if that’s not all smooched, and you talk of going off and leaving us!” The men looked doubtfully at one another; then there was the hissing creak of footsteps on the snow outside, and Widow Bishop screamed. “Oh, the Indians have come back!” she proclaimed. Silence looked up. The door was tried from without. “Who’s there?” cried out Captain Moulton. “John Sheldon,” responded a hoarse voice. “Who’s inside?” Captain Moulton threw open the door, and John Sheldon stood there. His severe and sober face was painted like an Indian’s with blood and powder grime; he stood staring in at the company. “Come in, quick, and let us bar the door!” screamed Eunice Bishop. John Sheldon came in hesitatingly, and stood looking around the room. “Have you but just come from the meadows?” inquired Captain Moulton. But John Sheldon did not seem to hear him. He stared at the company, who all stood still staring back at him; then he looked hard and long at the doors, as if expecting some one to enter. The eyes of the others followed his, but no one spoke. “Where’s Hannah?” asked John Sheldon. Then the women began to weep. “She’s in there,” sobbed John Carson’s wife, pointing to the bedroom door--“in there with little Mercy, Goodman Sheldon.” “Is--the child hurt, and--Hannah a-tending her?” The women wept, and pushed each other forward to tell him, but Captain Isaac Moulton spoke out, and drove the knife home like an honest soldier, who will kill if he must, but not mangle. “Goodwife Sheldon lies yonder, shot dead in her bed, and we found the child dead on the hearth-stone,” said Isaac Moulton. John Sheldon turned his gaze on him. “The judgments of the Lord are just and righteous altogether,” said Isaac Moulton, confronting him with stern defiance. “Amen,” returned John Sheldon. He took off his cloak, and hung it up on the peg as he was used. “Where is David Walcott?” asked Silence, standing before him. “David, he is gone with the Indians to Canada, and the boys, Ebenezer and Remembrance.” “Where is David?”