and obeyed without a murmur.  Mary was conducted back to the snow-canoe by the young chief, who led her by the hand, while the rest walked behind.  Once the young warrior turned and looked searchingly in the face of his fair prize, and she returned the gaze with an instantaneous conviction that no personal harm was intended her.  The chief was not half so dark as the rest of his tribe, and his countenance was open, generous, and noble. (It may seem improbable to the unthinking reader that a timid and alarmed maiden should be able to read the character of a foe by his features under such circumstances.  But those very circumstances tended to produce such acuteness.  And this is not only the case with human beings, but even with dumb brutes—­for, at the moment they are about to be assailed, they invariably and instinctively look the assailant in the eye, mercy being the only remaining hope.) Again the young warrior turned to behold his captive’s face, and Mary was in tears.  He paused abruptly, and, after gazing some moments in silence and deep thought, resumed his pace.  When they reached the snow-canoe, and while in the act of lifting his captive into her couch, the young chief observed for the first time a massive ring of curious workmanship on her finger (the glove she had hitherto worn being partially torn from her hand in the recent struggle,) and seemed to regard it with much interest.  Mary saw that his eyes were riveted on the jewel, and notwithstanding it possessed a hallowed value in having been worn by her mother, yet she felt that she could resign it to the one who had saved her life, and whose noble bearing, so different from that of the rest, promised to shield her from future harm.  But he neither asked it as a gift nor tore it from her, but turned away in silence, and ordered the party to proceed.  The command was instantly obeyed.

There was another Indian that had attracted the notice of Mary—­one who studiously avoided her glance by constantly enveloping his face in his hairy robe whenever she turned towards him.  This he continued to do until she was again seated in the snow-canoe, and the order was given to proceed on the journey.  He then lingered behind the rest, and throwing aside his mask, she saw before her the savage that had been thrown within the inclosure by the explosion.  He pointed to the north, the direction of her home, and, by sundry signs and grimaces, made Mary understand that he had not been a party to her capture, and that he would endeavour to effect her escape.  He then joined the others, and the poor girl was once more coursing over the prairie more rapidly than ever.

[Illustration:  The savage rushed upon her, entwined his left hand in her flowing hair, and, waving his tomahawk aloft with the other, was in the act of sinking the steel in the fair forehead before him, when the blow was arrested by a mere stripling, who came up at the head of the rest of the Indians.—­P. 142]