had heard anything, it was one of the distant noises of the world.
There are in the woods occasional moanings, premonitions of change,
which are inaudible to the dull ears of men, but which, I have no
doubt, the forest-folk hear and understand. If the doe's suspicions were
excited for an instant, they were gone as soon. With an affectionate
glance at her fawn, she continued picking up her breakfast.

But suddenly she started, head erect, eyes dilated, a tremor in her
limbs. She took a step; she turned her head to the south; she listened
intently. There was a sound,--a distant, prolonged note, bell-toned,
pervading the woods, shaking the air in smooth vibrations. It was
repeated. The doe had no doubt now. She shook like the sensitive mimosa
when a footstep approaches. It was the baying of a hound! It was far
off,--at the foot of the mountain. Time enough to fly; time enough to
put miles between her and the hound, before he should come upon her
fresh trail; time enough to escape away through the dense forest, and
hide in the recesses of Panther Gorge; yes, time enough. But there was
the fawn. The cry of the hound was repeated, more distinct this time.
The mother instinctively bounded away a few paces. The fawn started up
with an anxious bleat: the doe turned; she came back; she couldn't leave
it. She bent over it, and licked it, and seemed to say, "Come, my child:
we are pursued: we must go." She walked away towards the west, and the
little thing skipped after her. It was slow going for the slender legs,
over the fallen logs, and through the rasping bushes. The doe bounded in
advance, and waited: the fawn scrambled after her, slipping and tumbling
along, very groggy yet on its legs, and whining a good deal because its
mother kept always moving away from it. The fawn evidently did not hear
the hound: the little innocent would even have looked sweetly at the
dog, and tried to make friends with it, if the brute had been rushing
upon him. By all the means at her command the doe urged her young one
on; but it was slow work. She might have been a mile away while they
were making a few rods. Whenever the fawn caught up, he was quite
content to frisk about. He wanted more breakfast, for one thing; and his
mother wouldn't stand still. She moved on continually; and his weak legs
were tangled in the roots of the narrow deer-path.

Shortly came a sound that threw the doe into a panic of terror,--a
short, sharp yelp, followed by a pro