ot knowing how
to act. The next she turned, and again hurried in to the house, from
whence she escaped by a back door, and sped breathlessly towards 'the
Burying Hill.' She knew that the service was over--for the last strains
of the parting hymn had been borne down by the evening breeze as she
left the house--and therefore she would find help and succor from the
returning congregation. That deep, melodious sound had been heard by
Henrich also; and it had struck a chord in his heart that vibrated
almost to agony. The stillness and abstraction of his look, as he
listened to the dying cadence, silenced the cries of the little child.
She gazed into his upturned eyes; and, possibly, she felt that those
eyes had an expression that was neither strange nor terrible--for now
she suffered the stranger to seat himself again on the bench beneath
the tulip tree, and place her gently on his knee.

Such was the picture that met the eyes of Edith, and her husband, and
parents, as they rushed into the garden, followed by the trembling and
exhausted Janet.

'My child! my Edith!' shrieked the young mother and sprang towards the
tree. That name told a long history to the wanderer which his heart
had already guessed. The Indian warrior rose, but he did not fly. No!
he only met the terrified mother; and as he placed her child in her
trembling arms, he folded them both in his own.

In amazement and indignation at this rude action, Roger now caught his
arm, and in the Indian tongue, inquired hastily--

'Who are you? and what can cause this freedom?'

I am Henrich Maitland!' exclaimed the stranger; 'and the Lord has
brought me back to my home once more.'

Oh, the music--the thrilling, startling music--of those words to the
ears and hearts of those who bad so long believed him dead! The
surprise and joy were too intense for Helen, and she sank fainting into
the arms of her long-lost son: while Rodolph grasped his hand, and
exclaimed with deep emotion--

'Now, God be praised! my brave, my blessed son! Surely His mercies are
infinite, and His ways past finding out! Now I know why my heart
yearned so strangely towards the Indian Chief who saved my life in the
Fort of Mystic; and why his voice had such a thrilling and familiar
tone, that spoke of home, and bygone years. Look on me, my Henrich, and
say, do you not recognise the English soldier whom your generous
interference preserved from a dreadful death?'

The change in Rodolph's dress