Indians. The major watched everything, with intense attention, through
the glass.

"What is it, dear Bob?" demanded the anxious Maud. "I see my dearest
mother--she seems alarmed."

"Was it known to her that you were about to quit the house, when you
came out on this walk?"

"I rather think not. She and Beulah were in the nursery with little
Evert, and my father was in the fields. I came out without speaking to
any person, nor did I meet any before entering the forest."

"Then you are now first missed. Yes, that is it--and no wonder, Maud,
it creates alarm. Merciful God! How must they all feel, at a moment
like this!"

"Fire your rifle, Bob--that will draw their eyes in this direction, and
I will wave my handkerchief--perhaps _that_ might be seen. Beulah
has received such signals from me, before."

"It would never do. No, we must remain concealed, watching their
movements, in order to be able to aid them at the proper time. It is
painful to endure this suspense, beyond a doubt; but the pain must be
borne in order to ensure the safety of one who is so very, very
precious to us all."

Notwithstanding the fearful situation in which she was placed, Maud
felt soothed by these words. The language of affection, as coming from
Robert Willoughby, was very dear to her at all times, and never more