d almost wished herself back
again with the pale-faces.

But there was one link in the chain of her destiny yet to be proved; if
_that_ should be found true, she had not returned in vain. About a year
previous to her capture, on a sunny afternoon, she had strayed a mile or
two from her father's camp, invited partly by the romance of her own
nature, and partly by the novelty of new scenery, opened up by a change of
camping-ground. While hesitating concerning her return, and gracefully
leaning against a young sapling, she heard a rustling of leaves near her;
and quickly directing her eyes to the spot whence the alarm came, she saw
with terror a full-grown panther steadily and cautiously approaching her.
She had no weapon of defence, and Indian though she was, had never
participated in blood and strife. She knew that flight would be vain, for
what human being could outrun a hungry panther? She raised one
alarm-whoop, and awaited her fate. At the loud, piercing cry, the fierce
animal seemed alarmed in his turn, and paused in his progress. But after
some five minutes, he recovered his courage, and was making ready for the
fatal spring, when an arrow pierced his heart; and the next moment a
young, athletic brave sprang from the thicket, and clasped the dark damsel
to his breast. She remained an instant, passive and bewildered; the next,
she sprang from the embrace of the stranger, and with Indian dignity
thanked him for his kind and timely aid. She then turned her face toward
her father's camp, and with the fleetness of an antelope passed the
intervening space, and soon found herself safe in her changing habitation.

But notwithstanding the assumed dignity and apparent coldness with which
she addressed the young stranger, Mary in that moment of rescue was
awakened to a new and impassioned existence. The image of the stranger was
before her by day and in her dreams by night. Six or eight months passed,
when the chiefs of the tribe celebrated a great festival, to which all the
members were invited. The ceremonies were to last a week; many did not
arrive until after the first day, and the father of Mary, and his camp,
were of this number. But toward the evening of the first day of the
festivities, a tall, graceful young brave stalked into the assembly, and
with cool solicitude scanned the faces of the female visiters; and not
appearing satisfied, he folded his arms upon his breast, and leaning
against a rude post, listlessly obs