grave consequences to Robert Willoughby, though she had
sufficient fortitude, and sufficient consideration for others, to keep
most of her apprehensions to herself.

When Joyce demanded his audience, the family was at breakfast, though
little was eaten, and less was said. The serjeant was admitted, and he
told his story with military precision.

"This has a suspicious air, Joyce," observed the captain, after musing
a little; "to me it seems like an attempt to induce us to follow, and
to draw us into an ambuscade."

"It may be that, your honour; or, it may be a good honest retreat.
_Two_ prisoners is a considerable exploit for savages to achieve. I
have known them count _one_ a victory."

"Be not uneasy, Wilhelmina; Bob's rank will secure him good treatment,
his exchange being far more important to his captors, if captors they
be, than his death. It is too soon to decide on such a point, serjeant.
After all, the Indians may be at the mills, in council. On a war-path,
all the young men are usually consulted, before any important step is
taken. Then, it may be the wish of the chiefs to impress our flag-
bearers with an idea of their force."

"All that is military, your honour, and quite possible. Still, to me
the movement seems as if a retreat was intended, in fact, or that the
_appearance_ of one was in view."

"I will soon know the truth," cried the chaplain. "I, a man of peace,
can surely go forth, and ascertain who these people are, and what is
their object."

"You, Woods! My dear fellow, do you imagine a tribe of blood-thirsty
savages will respect you, or your sacred office? You have a sufficient
task with the king's forces, letting his enemies alone. You are no
missionary to still a war-cry."

"I beg pardon, sir"--put in the serjeant--"his reverence is more than
half right"--here the chaplain rose, and quitted the room in haste,
unobserved by the two colloquists--"There is scarce a tribe in the
colony, your honour, that has not some knowledge of our priesthood; and
I know of no instance in which the savages have ever ill-treated a
divine."

"Poh, poh, Joyce; this is much too sentimental for your Mohawks, and
Oneidas, and Onondagas, and Tuscaroras. They will care no more for
little Woods than they care for the great woods through which they
journey on their infernal errands."

"One cannot know, Hugh"--observed the anxious mother--"Our dear Robert
is in their hands; and, should Mr. Woods be really dispose