At length the horse stumbled in the darkness, and fell to the ground, uttering a plaintive neigh. Up to this moment Red Cedar had preserved—we will not say a complete and clear knowledge of the position in which he was—but at any rate a certain consciousness of the life that still dwelt in him. When his exhausted horse fell, the bandit felt a sharp pain in his head, and that was all; he fainted away while stammering an imprecation, the last protest of the villain, who, to the last moment, denied the existence of that God who smote him.
When he re-opened his eyes, under the impression of an indefinable feeling of comfort, the sun was shining through the tufted branches of the forest trees, and the birds, concealed beneath the green foliage, were singing their joyous concerts. Red Cedar gave vent to a sigh of relief, and looked languidly around him; his horse was lying dead a few paces from him. He was seated against the trunk of a tree, while Ellen, kneeling by his side, was anxiously following the progress of his return to life.
"Oh, oh," the bandit muttered hoarsely, "I am still alive then."
"Yes, thanks to God, father," Ellen answered softly.
The bandit looked at her.
"God!" he said, as if speaking to himself; "God!" he added with an ironical smile.
"He it was who saved you, father," the girl said.
"Child!" Red Cedar muttered, as he passed his left hand over his forehead; "God is only a word, never utter it again."
Ellen drooped her head; but with the feeling of life pain returned.
"Oh! How I suffer," he said.