“Humphrey, Humphrey! help, help!”

It was the strangled, muffled cry again.  The sound woke the young man from his trance of horror and amazement.  He uttered a hoarse cry, which he scarcely knew for his own, and dashed blindly onwards.

“Here, here!  This way.  By the barn!  Quick!”

No need to hasten Humphrey’s flying feet.  He rushed through the trampled fields.  He gained the clearing about the house and its buildings.  He reached the spot indicated, and saw a sight he would never forget.

His brother Charles was tightly, cruelly bound to the stump of a tree which had been often used for tethering animals at milking time just outside the barn.  His clothes were half torn from off his back, and several gaping, bleeding wounds told of the fight which had ended in his capture.  Most significant of all was the long semicircular red line round the brow, where the scalping knife had plainly passed.

Humphrey’s stout knife was cutting through the cruel cords, even while his horrified eyes were taking in these details.

When his brother was released, he seemed to collapse for a moment, and fell face downwards upon the ground, a quiver running through all his limbs, such as Humphrey had seen many a time in some wild creature stricken with its death wound.

He uttered a sharp cry of terror and anguish, and averting his eyes from the awful sights with which the place abounded, he dashed to the well, and bringing back a supply of pure cold water, flung it over his brother’s prostrate form, laving his face and hands, and holding a small vessel to his parched and swollen lips so that the draught could trickle into his mouth.

There was an effort to swallow, a quiver and a struggle, and the wounded man opened his eyes and sat up.

“Where am I—­what is it?” he gasped, draining the cup again and again, like one who has been near to perish with thirst.  “O Humphrey, I have had such an awful dream!”

Humphrey had so placed his brother that he should not see on opening his eyes that ghastly sight which turned the younger man sick with horror each time his eyes wandered that way.

Charles saw the familiar outline of the forest, and his brother’s face bending over him.  He had for a moment a vague impression of something unspeakably awful and horrible, but at that moment he believed that some mischance had befallen himself alone, and that he had imagined some black, nameless horror in a fevered dream.

A shiver ran through Humphrey’s frame.  His blue eyes were dazed and dilated.  What answer could he make?  He busied himself with dressing the wounds upon his brother’s chest and shoulders, from which the blood still oozed slowly.

“What is it?” asked Charles once again; “how did I come to be hurt?”

Humphrey made no reply, but a groan burst unawares from his lips.  The sound seemed to startle Charles from his momentary calm.  He suddenly put up his hand to his brow, felt the smart of the significant red line left by the scalping knife, and the next moment he had sprung to his feet with a sharp, low cry of unspeakable anguish.