djacent woods. After this
termination of the scene, Duncan wandered among the lodges, unquestioned
and unnoticed, endeavoring to find some trace of her in whose behalf he
incurred the risk he ran. In the present temper of the tribe it would
have been easy to have fled and rejoined his companions, had such a
wish crossed his mind. But, in addition to the never-ceasing anxiety on
account of Alice, a fresher though feebler interest in the fate of Uncas
assisted to chain him to the spot. He continued, therefore, to stray
from hut to hut, looking into each only to encounter additional
disappointment, until he had made the entire circuit of the village.
Abandoning a species of inquiry that proved so fruitless, he retraced
his steps to the council-lodge, resolved to seek and question David, in
order to put an end to his doubts.

On reaching the building, which had proved alike the seat of judgment
and the place of execution, the young man found that the excitement
had already subsided. The warriors had reassembled, and were now calmly
smoking, while they conversed gravely on the chief incidents of their
recent expedition to the head of the Horican. Though the return of
Duncan was likely to remind them of his character, and the suspicious
circumstances of his visit, it produced no visible sensation. So far,
the terrible scene that had just occurred proved favorable to his views,
and he required no other prompter than his own feelings to convince him
of the expediency of profiting by so unexpected an advantage.

Without seeming to hesitate, he walked into the lodge, and took his seat
with a gravity that accorded admirably with the deportment of his hosts.
A hasty but searching glance sufficed to tell him that, though Uncas
still remained where he had left him, David had not reappeared. No other
restraint was imposed on the former than the watchful looks of a young
Huron, who had placed himself at hand; though an armed warrior leaned
against the post that formed one side of the narrow doorway. In every
other respect, the captive seemed at liberty; still he was excluded from
all participation in the discourse, and possessed much more of the air
of some finely molded statue than a man having life and volition.

Heyward had too recently witnessed a frightful instance of the prompt
punishments of the people into whose hands he had fallen to hazard an
exposure by any officious boldness. He would greatly have preferred
silence and me