of Onontio—­as the scourge and terror of the tribe which had destroyed his family.  She had shortly afterwards started with her husband, taking with them the little boy, for the east, but they found the innumerable questions and suspicions occasioned by the possession of the white child so annoying, and dreaded so the inquiries and investigation that would be made upon their return home, that they determined to get rid of him upon the first opportunity.  As their route lay through New York, the streets of a populous city furnished the very chance they desired.  It was with great reluctance Esther felt herself compelled to this course, and she was unwilling the child should fall into unkind hands.  While reflecting upon what was to be done, she remembered a family which had come from that part of the country whence she came, and whom she had known as worthy people, and determined to entrust to them the boy.  She dared not to do this openly.  So one night she placed the child on their door-step, enjoining him not to stir until some one took him into the house, while she herself watched close by, until she saw him taken in.  Since then, not daring to make inquiries, for fear of bringing on herself some unknown punishment, she had not heard of the boy.  She remembered the name of the people with whom he was left, and also the street, and the number, and gave them to Holden.

Upon this foundation it was the Recluse built up the hope that his son was yet alive.

“I am Onontio,” he said.  “The Being who touched the heart of the ferocious savage to spare the life of the child, hath preserved him.  Mine eyes shall yet behold him.”

Armstrong was deeply touched, and in the contemplation of the brightening prospects of his friend, he forgot the clouds that hung around his own horizon.  Perhaps he was not so sanguine of success as Holden, whose eagle eyes seemed penetrating the future, but he respected too deeply the high raised hopes and sacred feelings of the father, to drop a word of doubt or discouragement.

“Myself, my purse,” he said, “are at your service.”

“Thomas Pownal goeth to the city to-morrow,” replied Holden.  “I will speak unto him, and accompany him.  Nor do I refuse thy assistance, but freely as it is offered as freely do I accept it.  They who are worthy to be called my friends, regard gold and silver only as it ministers to their own and others’ wants.”

He took the proffered bank-bills with quite as much an air of one conferring, as one of receiving a favor, and, without even looking at the amount, put them in his pocket.

It was so long since Holden had been in the great world, or mingled in the ordinary pursuits of men—­and his appearance and mode of speech were so different from those of others—­that Armstrong had some fears respecting his researches.  It was, perhaps, this latent apprehension of his fitness to appear in the world—­an apprehension, however, only dimly cognizable by himself—­that induced Holden to seek the companionship of Pownal.  With these feelings, and believing he might be of advantage to this strange man, for whom this new development awakened additional interest in his mind, Armstrong offered to be his companion, in the search for his son; but, to his surprise, his offer was hastily rejected.