oment,
and then closed them, to let the way come into her mind. That must
be the way, and she would go in that direction until she thought she
could make them hear; and then she would call. And ere she started,
amid the cold, unpitying trees, in her purity and innocence, that
savage nature reveres and respects, she knelt and prayed; she asked
for guidance and strength, and arose hopeful. But she found that she
was very weary: her feet were wet and cold, and when she was to start,
that she was confused and uncertain as to the direction. One more
invocation, and she went forward. How far or how long she travelled,
she had no idea. She paused to listen: no sound. Perhaps they would
now hear her, and she raised her voice, and called her father's name,
and again and again, with all her force, through the black, blank,
earless night, she sent her cry.

As her voice went out, hope, and spirit, and strength went with it.
She trembled and wept, and tried once again to pray. She clasped her
hands; but suffocating darkness seemed to close over her, and she felt
lost, utterly and hopelessly lost!

A sense of injustice, of ill-usage, came to her, and she dried her
eyes; she was young, and brave, and strong; and must; and would care
for herself. She should not perish; day would come some time, and she
should get out. She found she was very cold, and must arouse and exert
herself. Then came the thought and dread of wild animals; of that
awful beast; and she listened, and could hear their stealthy steps in
the dry leaves, and she shrunk from meeting the horrid glare of their
eyes. Oh, if Barton were only with her, just to drive them away! God
would protect him.

There--as she could not help but stare into the black darkness, there
surely was the glare of their eyes, that horrid, yellowish-green,
glassy glare! and with a shriek she fled--not far, for she fell, and a
half swoon brought her a moment's oblivion; when the dead cold night,
and the dumb trees came back about her again. With the reaction she
arose, and found that she had lost her hood. She felt that a wild
beast had torn it from her head; and that she had taken his hot, brute
breath.

Weak, hardly with the power of motion, she supported herself by the
trunk of a tree. "Father! Father God! a helpless, weak child calls
to Thee; show me my sin, let me repent of it; weak and lost, and
hopeless; sweet Saviour, with Thy loving sympathy, stay and help my
fainting heart. If it b