"Eva, take the hand of your aunt," said Mr. Brainerd, who saw that his other daughter was desirous of saying something to him; "and let Maggie and me walk together for a few minutes."

The child would have preferred to stay by the side of her beloved parent, but she did as requested, and her elder sister slipped back, and, as the ground permitted, ran her own arm beneath her father's, and the two walked together.

"Well, Maggie, what is it?" he asked, tenderly.

The brave girl repressed her distress as best she could, but he detected the tremor in the voice which asked the question:

"Father, have you told us all about Fred?"

"I saw him a while ago."

"Do you know whether he is alive or—or—dead?"

"Be courageous, my child; I cannot answer that question, but I have hope that we shall see him again. He hurried home from the army to help us, but arrived too late. Reaching Monocacy Island, he became so anxious to find out what had become of me, that he returned to the battle-ground at great risk to himself. We met, providentially, and found that neither was hurt—a remarkable piece of good-fortune indeed."

"But how did you become separated?"

"We started up the river bank in the direction of Fort Wintermoot, believing we would stand a better chance of getting across without molestation, for he had learned from a fugitive that you had gotten over. Fred made me promise, while on the way, that if we became separated I should make no effort to rejoin him—that is, to help him, for he must have felt that I could do him no good. I gave the promise, and then demanded that he should make me a similar pledge-but he actually refused."

"Just like my noble brother!" exclaimed Maggie, with a glowing countenance; "well?"

"Scarcely five minutes later we approached a dense portion of the forest, in which we feared were some of the Indians. Fred had assumed the leadership before this, and he told me to stay where I was until he could go forward and learn whether it would do to pick our way through that part of the wood, or whether it was necessary to go around."

"Well? well?" asked Maggie, seeing that her father hesitated.

"My boy went forward to reconnoiter—and he didn't come back."

"O, father!" wailed Maggie, "what became of him?"

"You can guess as well as I: there were Indians in there, as I learned immediately after, and one of several things may have happened to him. He may have found himself involved in such a network of danger that he was forced to lie still, not daring to withdraw until night; he may have been compelled to go out by another route, or he——"

"May have been captured and killed."

Maggie's eyes were fixed yearningly upon the face of her parent, as she finished his remark in a tremulous whisper.

"It may have been so," he added, gravely, "but we cannot be certain. Fred is very active, cool, self-possessed, and daring, and I shall not give up hope so long as this uncertainty exists."

Maggie Brainerd attempted to speak, but failed. The human heart at such a time reaches the limit of endurance, and she drew her shawl closer about her, though the afternoon was warm, and the exertion of traveling was great.

She had no covering on her head, but, like Eva, her wealth of luxuriant tresses, as fine as the golden floss on the ripening corn, flowed down and over her shapely shoulders.

"We are in the hands of God," said her father, reverently, as he drew his elbow closer to his side, so as to press the hand of his daughter with it; "I waited as long as I dared, and had I not made the pledge I would have gone forward to Fred's assistance."

"It was well you did not, for we would have two instead of one to mourn for."

"But where is your courage, child?" he asked, reproachfully; "is this the girl who stood up in the flat-boat and used the pole when the bullets were flying about her? Is this she who coolly raised her rifle and fired at those who were seeking her life?"

"I ought to be thankful, and I am thankful, for God has been tenfold more merciful to me than he has to scores of others. Our family as yet is unbroken, and, though the way is long and dark before us, we have cause to hope we shall all be saved."

"And there is equal cause to hope for the final escape of Fred," her father was quick to add.

"I will not murmur anymore," said Maggie, helping him over a boulder that obstructed their path; "we have enough on hand, without looking behind us. It may be that Fred is one of the fortunate few who shall survive to tell the dreadful story, but I feel as though we shall never see him again."

"Tut, tut, your feelings have nothing to do with it; when he rejoins us, and learns what a timid creature you were, or rather how strongly you doubted his ability to take care of himself—you will blush to look him in the face."

"I pray that I may have the opportunity—"

"Hello!" broke in her parent, stopping suddenly, as did all the rest; "there's something wrong."

And so there was, sure enough.