r gets in all sorts of places."

"Strange enough, that is true," said Sidney, "I wonder if there is an
end?"

"I guess so," said Edward, "everything that has a beginning has an end,
I believe; but, whether we shall find it, is another question."

"I propose we halt and rest," said Jane. "For one, I am exhausted, I
think it must be far into the night."

"I suspect it is," said the trapper. "Suppose we take a little sleep,
and then start afresh. But, then, if we do this, what shall we do for
light? No sticks are to be gathered on these pebbles, and ours will not
burn an hour longer. If it is possible for you to stand it, Jane, we
had better move on. I can help you, for I am too much used to
travelling to tire."

"Perhaps, we can find more of the burning water, if we keep a look
out," said the chief.

But on they went; yet no tripod met their eye, until they feared Jane
would be unable to proceed, and worst of all, two of their torches gave
out, and the rest would not last twenty minutes longer.

"The braves and maiden, will await us here," said the chief, "while my
brother and I bring relief. Come," said he, to Howe, "we are the
strongest, let them rest, and when we have found light we will return."

"Perhaps it is best," said the trapper. "Sit here, we will leave the
venison with you, that we need not be encumbered. Sit down on these
pebbles, they are dry and much easier than the fire of the cannibal.
Keep courage, and sleep if you can," so saying, he and the chief, took
the torches to light them on the way, and soon disappeared in the
distance. Sidney seated himself on the pebbles beside where Jane had
sank quite exhausted, and drawing her to him rested her head in his
arms, where she soon fell asleep. Edward was also soon in the land of
dreams, while Sidney watched over them with the care of a mother. Here
his whole life passed before him. His orphanage, the care of Mr. and
Mrs. Duncan, the tenderness they had bestowed upon him, his boyhood,
and dawning manhood, his capture by the Indians, and providential
escape, up to the present moment, and finally his present position.
Long did the children sleep, and long did he watch without a ray of
light, in a darkness more intense than anything he had ever imagined
surrounding him. No sound was heard, not even the faintest breath, save
the soft respiration of the sleepers. The time seemed to him endless;
and the oppressive silence had become more painful than can be