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, as the Indians rarely killed women and children, unless roused to do so by some signal act on the part of their enemies, when an exterminating spirit of revenge induced them to kill and spare not; but where no offence had been offered, they were not likely to take the life of an helpless, unoffending female.
The Indian is not cruel for the wanton love of blood, but to gratify revenge for some injury done to himself, or to his tribe; but it was difficult to still the terrible apprehensions that haunted the minds of Louis and Hector.