arrival. It was contrary to Indian etiquette to betray
excitement, or to ask hasty questions.

They saluted the old man, handed him a plug of tobacco, and sat down to
smoke, and it was not till some time had elapsed that Nazinred calmly
asked if Isquay was well.

"Isquay is well," replied the old chief, and a barely perceptible sigh
of relief escaped Nazinred.

Then Mozwa asked about his wife and received a satisfactory answer.
Still, it was obvious to both men, from the old chief's manner, that
there was something wrong.

"Adolay", said the old man, and stopped.

"Dead?" asked Nazinred, with a look of alarm that he did not attempt to
conceal.

"No, not dead--but gone away," he replied, and then related in detail
the circumstances of the girl's disappearance. It must have been a
terrible blow to the poor father, all the more that he was ignorant at
the time of the girl's motive for forsaking her home. But no vestige of
feeling did he betray, save a slight contraction of his brows and a
nervous play of his fingers about the handle of his scalping-knife.
When the recital was ended he made no reply, but, rising slowly, left
the hut and went to his own home.

We will not follow him thither: there are some home-comings which are
better left undescribed.

But next day Nazinred relaunched his canoe, and, with a small quantity
of provisions and a large supply of ammunition, set off alone for the
shores of the Arctic Sea. What he told his wife is not known, but he
gave no explanation whatever to any of his comrades as to his
intentions.

Arrived at the coast, however, his further advance was rendered
impossible by a sharp frost which created the first thin crust that was
ultimately destined to turn the sea into thick ice. As even the
thinnest coat of ice would be certain destruction to birch-bark, the
canoe, he was well aware, was now useless. He therefore returned home,
and quietly engaged in the ordinary hunting and fishing occupation of
his tribe, but from that date he sank into a state of silent despair,
from which his most intimate companions failed to rouse him. Not that
he gave expression to his feelings by word or look. It was
long-continued silence and want of interest in anything that told of the
sorrow that crushed him. It is probable that the fact of Adolay being
capable of forsaking her parents in such a way tended to increase the
grief occasioned by her loss. But he spoke of his feelings to n