the woods; some sanguine
spirits, chief among whom was little Roland Markley, still asserted that
Emily might live, and have been carried away into captivity; but her
parents could not so deceive themselves--that lock of hair had convinced
them of her death; hope could not enter their hearts, it had died with
Emily.

One entire day did the Indian-hunters follow in the trail and came upon
the spot where their enemies had encamped; and there, three trails in
different directions, looked as if the savages had scattered. What was
to be done? To follow all was impossible, as their own force was a small
one; and meantime night had come on, wrapping all things in her mantle
of secrecy, and fatigue required them to rest their weary frames.
Setting a watch, and lighting a fire, with loaded rifles within reach,
they slept; such a sleep as men can take, when they dream of a red hand
at their throats, and a tomahawk glancing before their eyes. Light
hearts make heavy sleep; but such a deed as had been committed in the
midst of them, makes men start from their slumbers if but a cricket
chirps, or a withered leaf falls to the ground.

During the night, heavy rains began to fall, and when morning light
appeared, all traces of the pathway of their enemy had disappeared; the
leaves fell abundantly from the trees, and no mark was left upon the
earth to show where they had passed. The baffled party did not give up
the search for several days, but nothing transpired to throw any light
upon the subject; and they were obliged reluctantly to return, in order
to defend their own homes and families from a similar fate. Few doubted
little Emily's death; but some still clung to the hope that she was in
the land of the living, and might yet be recovered.

But her father and mother hoped nothing: grief entirely filled up their
hearts. And with the grief arose a new feeling--bitter and poignant
remorse. "This is the just punishment," they thought, "that offended
Heaven has inflicted upon us, for having wrung _our_ parents' hearts
with anguish. Now we feel a parent's agony: now can we realize what we
made them suffer. This was the tender spot on which a wound would
penetrate to the heart; and here it is that a retributive Providence has
struck us. The arrows of the Almighty have pierced us--shall we any
longer strive against our Maker? We will humble ourselves in the dust, O
righteous Judge, and will return to duty: if it be not yet too late--if
o