“She’s gone! gone! gone!” exclaimed Roughgrove, covering his face with both hands. Boone made no answer, but turning his face in the direction of the southern valley, he called upon the name of Mary three times, in clear and loud tones. He listened for her reply, in a motionless attitude, several minutes. But no reply came. Now a change came over _his_ features. It was a ferocity from which even the blood-thirsty savages would have fled in horror! “My eternal curse upon them! They have seized her! I have been deceived! I will have vengeance!” said he, in a low, determined tone. “Will they kill her, or keep her for a ransom?” inquired Glenn, in extreme and painful excitement. “A ransom,” said Boone; “but they shall pay the weight of the silver they demand in blood!” “May Heaven guard her!” said Roughgrove, in piteous agony. “Cheer up—we will get her again,” said Boone; and then giving some hasty directions, preparations were made for pursuit. CHAPTER XI. Mary—Her meditations—Her capture—Her sad condition—Her mental sufferings—Her escape—Her recapture. When the men departed for the island in quest of the wolves, Mary was singing over her neglected flowers, at her father’s house in the valley, and her clear ringing notes were distinctly heard by the whole party. After they were gone she continued her song, and lingered long over every faded leaf and withered blossom, with no thought of danger whatever, and none of pain, save the regret that her long cherished plants had been forgotten in the consternation of the previous day, and had fallen victims to the frost-king. But nothing had been touched by the savages. The domestic fowls clustered about her, and received their food from her hands as usual. The fawn was with her, and evinced the delight afforded by the occasional caress bestowed upon it, by frequently skipping sportively around her. Mary was happy. Her wants were few, and she knew not that there was such a thing as a malicious enemy in the world, save the wild savage. Her thoughts were as pure as the morning dew, and all her delights were the results of innocence. She had never harmed any one, and her guileless heart never conceived the possibility of suffering ill at the hands of others. She smiled when the beautiful fawn touched her hand with its velvet tongue, and a tear dimmed her eye for an instant when she looked upon her stricken rose.