"Villain? Yes! He is that, for he would have carried off my
Laurel!"
"Hush father, you showed him that you had more strength than a coward can have. I feel so much better. I am almost cured since this girl has taken my hand."
"My name is Cora Kimball," said our heroine, "and I have a camp at the lower end of the lake. It is there I am taking Laurel."
"And she may come to see me?" almost sobbed the aged man. "My little wild Laurel."
"Yes, indeed, and some day I feel that we may take you, too, away from this island. There, I do not mean anything to harm you. Come, dear, it is growing dark."
"I will leave a branch of laurel to guide you back to me," the man said to his daughter. "When you come, look for it as I shall place it fresh every day."
"Go now, before I go," his daughter urged. "Then I shall feel that you are safe."
He turned, and the girls stood to watch the last of that queer form as it disappeared over the hill. He was going to one of his many woodland haunts.
"Now we may go," said the lonely one. "Poor, dear father!"
"Be brave," urged Cora, as she led her toward the shore. "I am so glad I found you."