It will occasion no surprise, then, that Anne, engrossed with her own happiness, should hardly have observed the road taken by Pownal, or been conscious of how far they had driven, until some remark of his attracted her attention to the scenery.  She then perceived that they were in the midst of the Indian settlement on the Severn, and to a playful question of Pownal, inquiring how she would like to leave her card with Queen Esther, she replied by expressing her delight at the proposition.  Esther’s cabin stood some little distance off from the main road, towards which a long and narrow winding track led, seldom travelled by any other vehicles than ox carts and sleds.  Over the yet unbroken snow, Pownal directed the horse, the light pung plunging with every motion of the animal, and threatening to upset, causing merriment, however, rather than alarm to the occupants of the conveyance.  In this manner, straining through the snow-drifts, they finally reached the dwelling of Esther.  She herself, attracted by the sound of the bells, came to the door, and welcomed them with great cordiality.

“Mr. Pownal and I,” cried the lively Anne, “are come to make a New-Year’s call, Esther.  I have not your presents with me, but the next time you are at our house, you shall have them.”

“Miss Anne more’n all present,” replied the pleased Esther.  “She cold; she must come to the fire.”

“No,” said Anne, as she was being ushered by the squaw into the cabin, “I am not cold.  Why, what a nice”—­but the sentence was not concluded.  Her eyes had fallen on the stately form of Holden, who sat on a bench near to the fire.

“O, father Holden!” exclaimed the lovely girl, running up to him, throwing her arms round his neck, and kissing his forehead, “is it you?  How glad I am you escaped from those abominable men.  Tell me all about it.  How was it?  Did they do you any harm?”

At this moment, Pownal entered, and advancing, grasped the old man’s hand, and congratulated him on his escape.

“My God,” said Holden, in his wild way, “hath sent His angel and shut the lions’ mouths that they have not hurt me.  He raiseth the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the mire.”

“But,” urged Anne, with feminine curiosity, “we are anxious to hear how you escaped.”

The Recluse did not seem to consider it necessary to make any secret—­at least to those present—­of the events of the past night, and, with the frankness that characterized him, spoke of them without hesitation.

After stating what we already know, he said he was led away rapidly by a man dressed in a sailor’s suit, whose face he did not see, and who accompanied him until they had passed the last house on the street.  They met no one, and, on parting, the man forced a purse into his hand, and entreated him to make his way to the cabin of Esther, where he would be safe and welcome, and there to remain until his friends should be apprised of his retreat.