He looked up, and beheld Lucien by the edge of the woods.
With a shout of joy he plied the spur and rode forward.

As he drew near, however, his feeling of joy became one of painful apprehension.
There was Lucien,--there were Jeanette and Marengo,--_but where was Francois_?
"Where is Francois ?" inquired Lucien, as Basil rode up.
The latter could hardly speak, so strong were his emotions.
"O brother!" he faltered out at length, "has Francois not returned ?" "No," answered Lucien, "I was thinking he was with you, and you would come back together.

I have been wondering what could have detained you so long." "O God, he is lost!" cried Basil, breaking into an agony of grief.
"Lucien! Lucien! our brother is lost!" "Lost! what mean you ?" asked Lucien, half believing that Francois had been attacked by Indians, or some wild animal, and that that was what Basil meant.

"Has anything happened to him?
Speak, Basil!" "No, no!" replied Basil, still speaking wildly, "lost on the prairie! O brother, you know not what it is--it is a fearful thing.

I have been lost,--I have got back; but Francois, poor little Francois! there is no hope for him! he is lost--lost!" "But have you not seen him since we all three parted ?" inquired Lucien in dismay.
"No, not since we parted.