He reached the cottage, where he expected to meet Rebecca, but found it deserted, and in the utmost confusion. Surprised, he turned from the cottage to seek an explanation, when a footstep caused him to raise his head, and he stood face to face with George Waldron. They each grasped the other’s hand; for friendship was still strong in both. “I have been very wrong and wicked,” said George Waldron, “but I have suffered for it. Yesterday, after a long struggle, I resolved to release Rebecca from an engagement, into which I knew she had been forced. I did so. But now she is gone. Last night Aunt Mary awoke and found herself alone; she gave the alarm, and people have hunted for lier ever since. I fear she has been carried off by the Indians.” Morris was almost stunned by this unlooked for calamity. At length he grasped the hand of his friend and said, “We are friends--brothers; together we will go and rescue her or share her fate.” A slight noise at this instant caused them to turn, and standing near them, his arms folded on his breast, his keen eye fixed upon them, was an Indian, whom they recognised as one who was often about the settlement. “Has the pale-face’s council fire gone out, or are their braves turned squaws, that the foe enters the wigwam and steals their ‘Wild Rose,’ and no warriors start on the trail?” “Do you know any thing of Rebecca Bray,” demanded Morris. Yondeega’s eyes were open. Neddo’s trail and the Wild Rose’s trail were one. George started. He knew that Edward Sinclair had two days previous, joined a hunting party; but he supposed that he had gone away to avoid being present at Rebecca’s nuptials. “The false-hearted villain!” said he, “I will follow him, and he shall yet feel the weight of my arm.” “No, no,” said Yondeega, with a flashing eye and knotted brow. “No pale-face touch him. Yondeega’s tomahawk is sharp, and his rifle never fails it aim. Yondeega will kill him like a dog.” The features of the Indian then assumed an expression of sorrow. “Yondeega had a daughter; she was fair as the spring flowers, and cheerful as the song of birds. The Yengese came and spake with his forked tongue, the maiden listened, and her heart changed. She has left the wigwam of her tribe to follow the stranger.” From this the young men gathered that Sinclair had been as false to his red as to his white friends, and having signified to the Indian that they would follow where he led, they set off in pursuit of the lost flower.