'Mother, do you not fear to pass through this forest now? Shall we not
meet more of those dreadful savages who have taken away my brother? Oh,
Henrich! Henrich!' she cried--while tears burst afresh from her eyes at
the recollection of her brother's fate--'why did you venture into this
wood to seek plants for my bower?' and the child sobbed convulsively,
from mingled grief and fear.

‘Cease, Edith, cease!' replied the deeply distressed, but now firm and
courageous Helen: 'I fear nothing while I am seeking aid for Henrich.
God will protect us, my child!’ she added: and she raised her glistening
eyes to heaven, and gazed, hopefully and trustingly, on one bright star
that shone upon her between the summits of the lofty trees. Her heart
was strengthened by her pious confidence in her heavenly Father. She
remembered also that Edith looked to her for protection; and all
personal fears were absorbed by that generous and elevating feeling of
self-devotion, which is shared even by the lower and weaker animals
when their offspring are in danger. So Helen forgot herself, and felt
strong to guard her child, and strong to seek and obtain aid for him
whose peril was more real and urgent.

Onward she pressed in silence but her soul was pleading eloquently with
God. Soon Edith checked her suddenly, and exclaimed, as she stumbled
over something in the pathway, 'Oh mother, here are Henrich's tools;
and there I see Ludovico's basket full of moss! This is the spot to
which my brothers were coming; and yonder is the old tree, with the
white flowers hanging on it, that Henrich wished to plant by my bower.
It must have been here that the Indians seized him while he was at
work.'

That part of the wood was more light and open than the rest of their