n; night found them still
unsuccessful in their search. Sometimes they fancied that she had seated
herself beneath some tree and fallen asleep; but no one imagined the
true cause, having seen nothing of the Indians.

Again they retraced their steps back to the house; but they found her
not there. They continued their unavailing search till the moon setting
left them in darkness, and they laid down to rest, but not to sleep. The
first streak of dawn saw them again hurrying to and fro, calling in
vain upon the name of the loved and lost companion of their wanderings.
Desolation had fallen upon their house, and the evil which of all others
they had most feared, had happened to them.

Indiana, whose vigilance was more untiring, for she yielded not so
easily to grief and despair, now returned with the intelligence that
she had discovered the Indian trail, through the big ravine to the lake
shore; she had found the remains of a wreath of oak leaves which had
been woven by Catharine, and probably been about her hair; and she had
seen the mark of feet, Indian feet, on the soft clay, at the edge of the
lake, and the furrowing of the shingles by the pushing off of a canoe.
It was evident that she had been taken away from her home by these
people. Poor Louis gave way to transports of grief and despair; he
knew the wreath, it was such as Catharine often made for herself, and
Mathilde, and petite Louise, and Marie; his mother had taught her to
make them; they were linked together by the stalks, and formed a sort
of leaf chain. The remembrance of many of their joyous days of childhood
made Louis weep sorrowful tears for happy days, never to return again;
he placed the torn relic in his breast, and sadly turned away to hide
his grief from Hector and the Indian girl.

Indiana now proposed searching the island for further traces, but
advised wariness in so doing. They saw, however, no smoke nor canoes.
The Indians had departed while they were searching the ravines and flats
round Mount Ararat, and the lake told no tales, The following day they
ventured to land on Long Island, and on going to the north side saw
evident traces of a temporary encampment having been made. This was all
they could do, further search was unavailing; as they found no trace of
any violence having been committed, they still cherished hopes that
no personal harm had been done to the poor captive, It was Indiana's
opinion that, though a prisoner, she was unhurt,