though they were about to lose her for ever. And,
indeed, it is likely that an indistinct thought of this kind had flitted
across their minds, when they saw that she was no longer their sister--
for they had almost forgotten that she was not so, and they loved her as
well as if she had been. Up to this time none of them had thought of
her but as a sister; and Harry, with whom she was a great favourite,
used to call her his "dark sister," while the younger, Mary, was known
as the "fair" one in the midst of the group stood the little brunette,
like the rest, overwhelmed with singular emotions, but calmer, and
apparently more mistress of her feelings, than any of them.

The traders and hunters were all upon their feet congratulating McKnight
on the happy discovery; while each of them shook hands with our host and
his wife, whom they now remembered having heard of, as well as the story
of the massacre. Old Cudjo leaped over the floor, whipping the panthers
and wolf-dogs, and cutting various capers, while the very animals
themselves howled with a sort of fierce joy. Our host went into an
inner apartment of the cabin, and presently returned with a large jar of
brown earthenware. Cups cut out of the calabash were set upon the
table; and into these a red liquid was poured from the jar, and we were
all invited to drink. What was our surprise on tasting the beverage to
find that it was wine--wine in the middle of the desert! But it was
so--excellent wine--homemade, as our host informed us--pressed from the
wild muscadine grapes that grew plentifully in his valley.

As soon as we had all passed the cups of wine, and had got fairly seated
again, McKnight, at the request of Rolfe, took up the thread of the
story, in order to detail how he had escaped from the Indians on that
fearful night. His story was a short one and ran as follows:--

"After I left you," said he, addressing Rolfe, "where you had broken
your wagon, I rode on, and overtook the caravan. The road, as you may
remember, became smooth and level; and as there appeared to be no good
camping-ground nearer than the hills, we kept on for them without
stopping. It was near sundown, when we reached the little stream where
you saw the wagons. There, of course, we halted, and formed our camp.
I did not expect you to come in for an hour or so later, as I calculated
that it would take you about that length of time to mend the tongue. We
kindled fires, and, having cook