Henry saw his mother and sister weeping at the palisade, and Lucy Upton standing beside them.

His mother's face was the last that he saw when he plunged into the forest.

Then he was again the hunter, the trailer and the slayer of men.
While they considered whether or not to pursue, Henry Ware had said nothing; but all the primitive impulses of man handed down from lost ages of ceaseless battle were alive within him; he wished them to go, he would show the way, the savage army would make a trail through the forest as plain to him as a turnpike to the modern dweller in a civilized land, and his heart throbbed with fierce exultation, when the decision to follow was at last given.

In the forest now he was again at home, more so than he had been inside the palisade.

Around him were all the familiar sights and sounds, the little noises of the wilderness that only the trained ear hears, the fall of a leaf, or the wind in the grass, and the odor of a wild flower or a bruised bough.
Brain and mind alike expanded.