ing wet when he set out. Under these
circumstances would he remain so long, unless something unpleasant had
happened to him?

This question the three began to ask one another. They began to grow
uneasy about their absent companion; and as the hours passed on without
his appearing, their uneasiness increased to serious alarm. They at
length resolved to go in search of him. They took different directions,
so that there would be a better chance of finding him. Norman struck out
into the woods, while Lucien and Francois, followed by the dog Marengo,
kept down the bank--thinking that if Basil had got lost, he would make
for the river to guide him, as night approached. All were to return to
the camp at nightfall whether successful or not.

After several hours spent in traversing the woods and openings, Norman
came back. He had been unable to find any traces of their missing
companion. The others had got back before him. They heard his story with
sorrowing hearts, for neither had they fallen in with the track of
living creature. Basil was lost, beyond a doubt. He would never have
stayed so long, had not some accident happened to him. Perhaps he was
dead--killed by some wild animal--a panther or a bear. Perhaps he had
met with Indians, who had carried him off, or put him to death on the
spot. Such were the painful conjectures of his companions.

It was now night. All three sat mournfully over the fire, their looks
and gestures betokening the deep dejection they felt. Although in need
of repose, none of them attempted to go to sleep. At intervals they
discussed the probability of his return, and then they would remain
silent. Nothing could be done that night. They could only await the
morning light, when they would renew their search, and scour the country
in every direction.

It was near midnight, and they were sitting silently around the fire,
when Marengo started to his feet, and uttered three or four loud barks.
The echoes of these had hardly died among the trees when a shrill
whistle was heard at some distance off in the woods.

"Hurrah!" shouted Francois, leaping to his feet at the instant; "that's
Basil's whistle, I'll be bound. I'd know it a mile off. Hurrah!"

Francois' "hurrah!" rang through the woods, and the next moment came
back a loud "Hilloa!" which all recognised as the voice of Basil.

"Hilloa!" shouted the three by the fire.

"Hilloa, my boys! all right!" replied the voice; and a few seconds
after, the