his clothes dried upon him. All the warriors quickly
followed his example except Timmendiquas and Anue, who sat down at the
entrance of the hollow, with their rifles across their knees, and
watched. Neither spoke and neither moved. They were like bronze statues,
set there long ago.

Henry awoke at the mystical hour when the night is going and the dawn
has not yet come. He did not move, he merely opened his eyes, and he
remembered everything at once, his capture, the flight through the
forest, and the hurricane. He was conscious of peace and rest. His
clothes had dried upon him, and he had taken no harm. He felt neither
the weight of the present nor fear for the future. He saw the dusky
figures of the Wyandots lying in the leaves about him sound asleep, and
the two bronze statues at the front of the stony alcove.

Clear as was Henry's recollection, a vague, dreamy feeling was mingled
with it. The wilderness always awoke all the primitive springs within
him. When he was alone in the woods--and he was alone now--he was in
touch with the nymphs and the fauns and the satyrs of whom he had
scarcely ever heard. Like the old Greeks, he peopled the forest with the
creatures of his imagination, and he personified nearly everything.

Now a clear sweet note came to his half-dreaming ear and soothed him
with its melody. He closed his eyes and let its sweetness pierce his
brain. It was the same song among the leaves that he had heard when he
was out with the shiftless one, the mysterious wind with its invisible
hand playing the persistent and haunting measure on the leaves and
twigs.

It was definite and clear to Henry. It was there, the rhythmic note ran
through it all the time, and for him it contained all the expression of
a human voice, the rise, the fall, the cadence, and the shade.

But its note was different now. It was not solemn, ominous, full of
warning. It was filled with hope and promise, and he took its meaning to
himself. He would escape, he would rejoin his comrades, and the great
expedition would end in complete success.

Stronger and fuller swelled the song, the mysterious haunting note that
was played upon the leaves, and Henry's heart bounded in response. He
was still in that vague, dreamy state in which things unseen look large
and certain, and this was a call intended for him. He glanced at the
brown statues. If they, too, heard, they made no sign. He glanced at the
leaves, and he saw them moving gently as