s, or of men abandoned to all the horrible
impulses of lycanthropy.

During all this time, the young Virginian lay bound in a wigwam, guarded
by a brace of old warriors, who occasionally varied the tedium of
watching by stalking to the door, where, like yelping curs paying their
respects to passers-by, they up-lifted their voices and vented a yell or
two in testimony of their approbation of what was going on without. Now
and then, also, they even left the wigwam, but never for more than a few
moments at a time; when, having thus amused themselves, they would
return, squat themselves down by the prisoner's side, and proceed to
entertain him with sundry long-winded speeches in their own dialect, of
which, of course, he understood not a word. Wrapped in his own bitter
thoughts, baffled in his last hope, and now grown indifferent what might
befall him, he lay upon the earthen floor during the whole day, expecting
almost every moment to behold some of the shouting crew of the village
rush into the hovel and drag him away to the tortures which, at that
period, were so often the doom of the prisoner.

But the solitude of his prison-house was invaded only by his two old
jailers; and it was not until nightfall that he beheld a third human
countenance. At that period, Telie Doe stole trembling into the hut,
bringing him food, which she set before him, but with looks of deep grief
and deeper abasement, which he might have attributed to shame and remorse
for a part played in the scheme of captivity, had not all her actions
shown that, although acquainted with the meditated outrage, she was
sincerely desirous to avert it.

Her appearance awakened his dormant spirits, and recalled the memory of
his kinswoman, of whom he besought her to speak, though well aware she
could speak neither hope nor comfort. But scarce had Telie, more abashed
and more sorrowful at the question, opened her lips to reply, when one of
the old Indians interposed, with a frown of displeasure, and, taking her
by the arm, led her angrily to the door, where he waved her away, with
gestures that seemed to threaten a worse reception should she presume to
return.

Thus thwarted and driven back again upon his own reflections, Roland gave
himself up to despondency, awaiting with sullen indifference the fate
which he had no doubt was preparing for him. But he was doomed once more
to experience the agitations of hope, the tormentor not less than the
soother of existen