,
his muscular limbs had apparently lost none of their force, and his
spirit none of its courage and energy.

So fixedly was the attention of Henrich fastened on the gallant
soldier, that, for a time, he was regardless of the battle that raged
around him, and of the fearful conflagration that was spreading along
the Indian huts. These were only composed of weed and dry moss and
reeds; and the flames quickly caught hold of them, and promised soon to
bring the conflict to a dreadful close.

The eye of Henrich was still fixed on that noble English officer; and
the instinctive feeling of admiration and respect with which his aspect
inspired him, was increased by seeing him, regardless of his own
safety, actively engaged in rescuing an Indian woman and her child from
a mass of burning ruins.

He had been observed by other eyes also--by eyes that recognised him,
and glared with irrepressible fury as they fell on him'. An Indian
warrior approached him from behind, while he was unguardedly pursuing
his work of mercy; and Henrich saw the savage preparing to strike a
deadly blow, that would have cleft the head of the stranger in twain.
Could he stand and see the noble Briton thus fall by a secret and
unresisted attack? No! every feeling and every instinct of his heart
forbad it! One instant his tomahawk flew in a gleaming circle round
his head; and the next it fell with crushing force on the right
shoulder of the savage, and sank deeply into his chest. It was a timely
blow, and saved the white man's life. But it could not save him from a
severe wound in the back, where the axe of the Indian fell heavily, as
his arm dropped powerlessly by his side--never to be raised again.

Coubitant sank on the ground; and, as he turned to look on his
unexpected assailant, his blood-shot eyes met those of Henrich, and
glared fiercely, first at him, and then at his intended victim, whose
life had been so strangely preserved. They stood side by side,
unconscious of the tie that bound them so closely together. Coubitant
knew it well; and he felt in this awful moment that Mahneto had, in
righteous retribution, sent the son to preserve the father's life from
the hand of him who had hated both alike. He hated them still: and,
even with his dying breath, he would not reveal the secret that would
have united those seemingly hostile warriors in the embrace of deep
affection.

Rodolph had not seen the friend whose timely aid had partially averted