The way was through a belt of timbered land leading to a creek, spanned by a rude wooden bridge. On the other side lay the ruin. The wood was passed in safety, and she reached the water's edge. To her amazement she found the creek greatly swollen; this often happened after heavy rains, though she had never before seen it in that condition. She proceeded along the causeway leading to the bridge, that seemed to offer a safe means of crossing. She paused to contemplate the current, bearing upon its bosom the torn trunks of trees caught in its rapid course. In another moment she was upon the bridge, and had got midway over it, when a tremulous motion of the planks caused her to hesitate. As she stood still the motion ceased, and smiling at her fears she again proceeded. Not far, however. Ere she had made three steps forward, to her horror the motion re-commenced with greater violence. She saw it was too late to retreat, and sped onward, the planks swaying fearfully towards the water. Believing it best to proceed, she took courage for a fresh effort, and kept on towards the other side. It was a fatal resolution. Just as she had prepared for her last spring the planks gave way with a creaking sound, and she was precipitated into the stream. Her presence of mind was gone, and in an instant she was submerged beneath the seething current of the flood. She rose again, gave utterance to a shriek, and was again swallowed up, her wail of agony being uttered in the water. At that moment a face that expressed fiendish delight appeared through the bushes, on the bank; nor did it vanish until assured that all was over, and Alice Rody had sunk below the surface, never more to return to it alive. Then, and not till then, the form emerged from out the underwood, and scrambling to the rude pier from which the planks had parted, stood surveying the scene. It was Maracota! "Good!" cried he. "So perish all who would make the red man forgive the injuries of his race. She was the child of a villain--the sister of a fiend!" He stooped down and examined the broken fragments of the bridge. "Maracota's axe has done the deed well," said he, continuing his soliloquy, "and he has nothing to fear. Her death will be attributed to accident. It was a great thought, and one that Oluski's spirit will approve. Maracota was his favourite warrior, and to please his shade has he done this deed, and will do more. Death to the pale-faces--death to their women and children! Death and extermination to the accursed race!" The vengeful warrior rose from his stooping position, cast one hurried glance upon the turbulent stream, and once more entering the underwood, disappeared from the spot. CHAPTER FORTY TWO. A SOLILOQUY. Wacora came from the council chamber, where the warriors had assembled, and passed over to the house where dwelt his white captive.