The return of light roused the sleeping senses of Eldred. The unfinished dream still floated in his fancy, and gave color to his words. “Oh! Arrowfoot you have saved me from falling headlong down the precipice. I should have perished but for you.” “Who?” muttered the hoarse voice of Hawkins. Shuddering, at the sound the boy looked up, and beheld the savage visage of the robber bending over him. His recollection suddenly returned, and clinging to the cloak of the robber who was endeavoring to withdraw, he plead for mercy in the most moving terms. “What have I done,” he exclaimed “how have I wronged you, or any one else? Tell me, and I will restore you fourfold. Only spare my life, that is all I ask, and you shall be rewarded. I am my father’s darling, he will give all he has for my life. Think, were you a father, had you but one son, the hope of your age, the pillow of your widowed heart, and he were torn——” “Boy, boy, your words pierce me like a sword! And yet it is not the voice of a child that can shake the mind from its purpose. It is the voice of the Almighty, crying _blood for blood!_ What! can nothing pay the forfeit of blood, but blood again? Whose blood must pay this boy’s? The deep answer speaks in my soul, my own child’s blood is the price. I dare not, no I will not shed a drop of yours. Let others answer for their own deeds,” he said, slowly retiring. As soon as he was alone, Eldred lifted up his heart to God, and prayed that he who hears the young ravens when they cry, would deliver him out of the hands of his enemies. Feeling tranquillized by casting himself upon the Almighty arm, he calmly surveyed the waving woodlands, and rushing streams, where had been the pastime and joy of his childhood. His eye caught the upwards flight of the “cloud cleaving eagle” soaring with unchained wing in boundless air, and he thought of the days when his heart bounded on wing as free and joyous, and the tears gushed from their full fountains as his head sunk on the broken aperture of the wall on which he was leaning. Absorbed in deep sorrow he heeded not the angry colloquy of the Kidnappers below, debating the point of his instant death or release, Hawkins refusing to take any further part in his destruction, and McMurdough in brutal ferocity at Fitzgerald’s delay, threatening his immediate assassination. A confused noise of voices approaching, broke in upon their dialogue, putting every other idea to flight, but that of immediate escape; and they fled towards a deep ravine, hoping to secrete themselves in it, until the pursuit was over; but it was too late. The wary Indian had placed a guard at every pass, and they were soon made prisoners. What was their astonishment to see Fitzgerald in the train of their pursuers? The unusual darkness of the night, prevented his finding the secret path to the place of rendezvous, and seeing himself totally at fault, he was obliged to await the glimmer of day light, in order to proceed more securely.