himself would be terrible indeed. Much as he clung to
life, and bitterly as he mourned his early cutting off
from the affections hitherto identified with his existence,
his wretchedness would have been less, had he not been
overwhelmed by the conviction that, with him, must perish
every chance of the safety of those, the bare recollection
of whom made the bitterness of death even more bitter.
Harrowing as were these reflections, he felt that immediate
destruction, since it could not be avoided, would be
rather a blessing than otherwise. But such, evidently,
was not the purpose of his relentless enemy. Every
species of torment which his cruel invention could supply
would, he felt convinced, be exercised upon his frame;
and with this impression on his mind, it would have
required sterner nerves than his, not to have shrunk from
the very anticipation of so dreadful an ordeal.

It was now noon, and yet no visible preparation was making
for the consummation of the sacrifice. This, Captain de
Haldimar imputed to the absence of the fierce Wacousta,
whom he had not seen since the return of the warriors
from their skirmish. The momentary disappearance of this
extraordinary and ferocious man was, however, fraught
with no consolation to his unfortunate prisoner, who felt
he was only engaged in taking such measures as would
render not only his destruction more certain, but his
preliminary sufferings more complicated and protracted.
While he was thus indulging in fruitless speculation as
to the motive for his absence, he fancied he heard the
report of a rifle, succeeded immediately afterwards by