ry big--though it does my heart good to
see them so bonny."

"And mine, too," Marguerite joined in, patting the three children on the
cheeks in turn, and drawing them to her and caressing them.

Mrs. Hellen, still dazed, and apparently hardly realizing what was
happening, stammered out her thanks, and the party then descended to the
kitchen to partake of a substantial supper that was speedily prepared
for them.

"Had you not better go and look for your friend now?" Wilfred observed,
just as Hellen was about to seat himself beside his wife and children.
"Marguerite will go with you, and on your return the three of you can
have your meal in here after the children have gone to bed."

Hellen readily assented, and kissing his wife and little ones, who
tearfully implored him not to be gone long, set out, accompanied by
Marguerite.

At each step they took, Marguerite's beauty became more irresistible.
The soft rays of the moon falling directly on her features enhanced
their loveliness, and Hellen could not keep his eyes off her. The
ominous cry of a night bird startled her; she edged timidly up to him;
and he had to exert all his self-control, so eager was he to clasp her
to him. In a strained, unnatural manner he kept up a flow of small-talk,
eliciting the information that she was an art student, and that she had
studied in Paris and Antwerp, had exhibited in Munich and Turin, and was
contemplating visiting London the following spring. They talked on in
this strain until Hellen, remembering their mission, exclaimed:--

"We must be very close to where I left Schiller. I will call to him."

He did so--not once, but many times; and the reverberation of his voice
rang out loud and clear in the silence of the vast, moon-kissed forest.
But there was no response, nothing but the rustling of branches and the
shivering of leaves.

"What's that?" Marguerite suddenly cried, clutching hold of Hellen's
arm. "There! right in front of us, lying on the ground. There!" and she
indicated the object with her gleaming finger-tip.

"It looks remarkably like Schiller," Hellen said. "Can he be asleep?"

Quickening their pace, they speedily arrived at the spot. It was
Schiller, or rather what had once been Schiller, for there was now very
little left of him but the face and hands and feet; the rest had only
too obviously been eaten. The spectacle was so shocking that for some
minutes Hellen was too overcome to speak.

"It must have bee