CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
LISTENING IN DESPAIR.
For some seconds Captain Redwood was powerless in a frenzy of despair.
Henry was equally overcome by grief truly agonising.

It was to both father and son a moment of the most unutterable anguish.
Helen, the dear daughter and sister, carried out of their sight, apparently beyond reach of pursuit.

And in the arms of a hideous creature which was neither wholly man nor wholly beast, but combined the worst attributes of each.
Perhaps she was already dead within the loathsome embrace--her tender body soon to be torn to pieces, or tossed from the top of some tall tree; to be crushed and mangled on the earth, or thrown with a plunge into the cold dark waters of that dismal lagoon, never more to be seen or heard of.
These were horrid thoughts and hideous images which rushed rapidly through their minds as they stood in the sombre shadow, picturing to themselves her too probable fate.

It was no longer a question about her life.
They knew, or believed, her to be dead.

They only thought of what was to become of her body; what chance there might be of recovering and giving it the sacred rights of sepulture.