for himself; for more than once, during his long conference
with Ponteac, had the fierce Wacousta bent his eye in
ferocious triumph on his victim, as if he would have
said,--"Come what will--whatever be the result--you, at
least, shall not escape me." Indeed, so confident did
the latter feel that the instant of attack would be the
signal of his own death, that, after the first momentary
and instinctive cheering of his spirit, he rather regretted
the circumstance of their approach; or, if he rejoiced
at all, it was only because it afforded him the prospect
of immediate death, instead of being exposed to all the
horror of a lingering and agonising suffering from the
torture.

While the chiefs were yet earnestly conversing, the alarm
cry, previously uttered by Wacousta, was repeated, although
in a low and subdued tone, by several of the Indians who
stood on the brow of the eminence. Ponteac started suddenly
to the same point; but Wacousta continued for a moment
or two rooted to the spot on which he stood, with the
air of one in doubt as to what course he should pursue.
He then abruptly raised his head, fixed his dark and
menacing eye on his captive, and was already in the act
of approaching him, when the earnest and repeated demands
for his presence, by the Ottawa chief, drew him once more
to the outskirt of the wood.

Again Captain de Haldimar breathed freely. The presence
of that fierce man had been a clog upon the vital functions
of his heart; and, to be relieved from it, even at a