position; as if, indeed, the earth
of which man is framed had been gathered only after it had been trodden
by the foot of the Prince of Darkness.

Even Edith forgot for a moment her fears of Braxley,--nay, she clung to
him for protection,--when her eye fell upon the savage herd, of whom the
chief number were crowded together in the centre of the square,
surrounding some object rendered invisible by their bodies, while others
were rushing tumultuously hither and thither, driven by causes she could
not divine, brandishing weapons, and uttering howls without number. One
large party was passing from the wigwam itself, their cries not less loud
or ferocious than the others, but changing occasionally into piteous
lamentations. They bore in their arms the body of the murdered chief,--an
object of such horror, that when Edith's eye; had once fallen upon it, it
seemed as if her enthralled spirit would never have recovered strength to
remove them.

But there was a more fearful spectacle yet to be seen. The wife of
Wenonga suddenly rushed from the lodge, bearing a fire-brand in her hand.
She ran to the body of the chief, eyed it, for a moment, with such a look
as a tigress might cast upon her slaughtered cub, and then, uttering a
scream that was heard over the whole square, and whirling the brand round
her head, until it was in a flame, fled with frantic speed towards the
centre of the area, the mob parting before her, and replying to her
shrieks, which were uttered at every step, with outcries scarce less wild
and thrilling. As they parted thus, opening a vista to the heart of the
square, the object which seemed the centre of attraction to all was fully
revealed to the maiden's eyes. Bound to two strong posts near the
Council-house, their arms drawn high above their heads, a circle of
brush-wood, prairie-grass, and other combustibles heaped around them,
were two wretched captives,--white men, from whose persons a dozen savage
hands were tearing their garments, while as many more were employed
heaping additional fuel on the pile. One of these men, as Edith could see
full well, for the spectacle was scarce a hundred paces removed, was
Roaring Ralph, the captain of horse-thieves. The other--and _that_ was a
sight to rend her eye-balls from their sockets,--was her unfortunate
kinsman, the playmate of her childhood, the friend and lover of maturer
years,--her cousin,--brother,--her all,--Roland Forrester. It was no
error of sight, no