and Glenn would join her father in the pursuit, and she entertained a lively hope that they would overtake her. But, again, when she looked out on the surface of the snow, and beheld the rapidity of the savages’ pace, this hope was entertained but for a moment. She then resolved to make an effort herself to escape. If she was not successful, it would, at all events, retard the progress of her captors, and she might also ascertain, with some degree of certainty, their purposes with regard to her fate. She rose as softly as possible and sprang upon the snow. The Indians, as she feared, instantly felt the diminution of weight, and halted so abruptly that every one of them was prostrated on the slippery snow-crust. Mary endeavoured to take advantage of this occurrence, and, springing quickly to her feet, fled rapidly in the opposite direction. But before she had run many minutes, she heard the savages in close pursuit and gaining upon her at every step. It was useless to fly. She turned her head, and beheld the whole party within a few paces of her. The foremost was a tall athletic savage, bearing in his hand a tomahawk he had snatched from the snow-canoe, and wearing a demoniac scowl on his lip. Mary scanned his face and then turned her eyes to heaven. She felt that her end was near, and she breathed a prayer taught her by her buried mother. The savage rushed upon her, entwining his left hand in her flowing hair, and waving his tomahawk aloft with the other, was in the act of sinking the steel in the fair forehead before him, when the blow was arrested by a mere stripling, who came up at the head of the rest of the Indians. The Herculean savage whirled round and scowled passionately at the youth. The young Indian (the chief just elected in the place of Raven) regarded him a moment with gleaming eyes, and a determined expression of feature, and then with much dignity motioned him away. The huge savage was strangely submissive in a moment, and obeyed without a murmur. Mary was conducted back to the snow-canoe by the young chief, who led her by the hand, while the rest walked behind. Once the young warrior turned and looked searchingly in the face of his fair prize, and she returned the gaze with an instantaneous conviction that no personal harm was intended her. The chief was not half so dark as the rest of his tribe, and his countenance was open, generous, and noble. (It may seem improbable to the unthinking reader that a timid and alarmed maiden should be able to read the character of a foe by his features under such circumstances. But those very circumstances tended to produce such acuteness. And this is not only the case with human beings, but even with dumb brutes—for, at the moment they are about to be assailed, they invariably and instinctively look the assailant in the eye, mercy being the only remaining hope.) Again the young warrior turned to behold his captive’s face, and Mary was in tears. He paused abruptly, and, after gazing some