rish, perhaps to become a living prey to
the wolf, and the eagle that I saw wheeling above the hill top. The poor
thing's lips were black and parched with pain and thirst; she turned her
eyes piteously from my face to the water jar as if to implore a draught.
This I gave her, and then having cooled the festering wound, and cut
the thongs that bound her, I wondered that she still kept the same
immoveable attitude, and thinking she was stiff and cramped with
remaining so long bound in one position, I took her two hands and tried
to induce her to move. I then for the first time noticed that she was
tied by the hair of her head to the tree against which her back was
placed; I was obliged to cut the hair with my knife, and this I did not
do without giving her pain, as she moaned impatiently. She sunk her head
on her breast, and large tears fell over my hands, as I bathed her face
and neck with the water from the jar; she then seated herself on the
ground, and remained silent and still for the space of an hour, nor
could I prevail upon her to speak, or quit the seat she had taken.
Fearing that the Indians might return, I watched in all directions, and
at last I began to think it would be best to carry her in my arms; but
this I found no easy task, for she seemed greatly distressed at any
attempt I made to lift her, and by her gestures I fancy she thought I
was going to kill her. At last my patience began to be exhausted, but I
did not like to annoy her. I spoke to her as gently and soothingly as I
could. By degrees she seemed to listen with more composure to me, though
she evidently knew not a word of what I said to her. She rose at last,
and taking my hands, placed them above her head, stooping low as she
did so, and this seemed to mean, she was willing at last to submit to
my wishes; I lifted her from the ground, and carried her for some little
way, but she was too heavy for me,--she then suffered me to lead her
along whithersoever I would take her, but her steps were so slow and
feeble, through weakness, that many times I was compelled to rest while
she recovered herself. She seems quite subdued now, and as quiet as a
lamb."

Catharine listened, not without tears of genuine sympathy, to the
recital of her brother's adventures. She seemed to think he had been
inspired by God to go forth that day to the Indian camp, to rescue the
poor forlorn one from so dreadful a death.

Louis's sympathy was also warmly aroused for the yo