t still
breathing.

"Father! Dear father! Speak to me. It is your own boy, Donald!"
cried the youth in pitiful accents, as he raised the prostrate form in
his arms. "Tell me, father, who has done this thing."

The dying man opened his eyes, and fixed them full on the face of his
son. For a few seconds he gazed on the loved features, and his lips
moved as in a blessing, though no sound came from them. Then, with a
smile of ineffable sweetness, and a sigh of perfect content, the light
faded from the dear eyes, and the spirit of the brave old soldier
passed gently from the war-worn body into the fadeless dawn of eternity.

Very tenderly did Donald lift the lifeless body of his father to the
humble pallet that had been the soldier's bed for many weeks. Then he
sat beside it, keeping motionless watch over his dead, while Atoka
stood silently in the doorway guarding the grief of his friend from
curious intrusion.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE CURSE OF THE MAGIC CIRCLE

From the moment that Donald Hester's brave shout of warning saved the
schooner _Gladwyn_ from capture, he was like one who sleeps, until he
awoke to consciousness amid the strange surroundings of an Indian
lodge. Soft hands were bathing his throbbing brow, and when he opened
his eyes they rested on a face of such loveliness, and at the same time
so filled with pity, that it seemed to him but the fairest fragment of
a beautiful dream. The radiant smile that greeted his restoration to
life gave the face a strangely familiar look; but he was too weak to
remember where he had seen it, and fell asleep from the weariness of
the effort. When he next awoke he was much stronger, and gazed eagerly
about with the hope that the face might prove a reality; but nowhere
could he discover it, nor did it appear to him again.

He was devotedly cared for by an old squaw, the most skilled nurse in
all the Ottawa tribe, and by a young warrior whom he came to know as
Atoka. Others occasionally visited the lodge, but never the one he
longed to see, and so he finally decided that the face had indeed come
to him in a dream and not in reality.

Aided by youth and the magic of Indian simples, Donald's recovery was
certain and rapid. Atoka was his constant companion, and, to while
away the slow hours, each taught the other his own language. One day
the Indian lad made mention of his sister Ah-mo, and Donald caught
eagerly at the name. At once it was connected with his