ast, she sat
silent and thoughtful for many minutes. Then she once more turned her
anxious gaze upon the countenance of her husband, where she found all
passion and care apparently buried in the coldest apathy. Satisfied now,
that the fate of her brother was sealed, and possibly conscious how well
he merited the punishment that was meditated, she no longer thought
of mediation. No more words passed between them. Their eyes met for an
instant, and then both arose and walked in profound silence towards the
encampment.

The squatter found his children expecting his return in the usual
listless manner with which they awaited all coming events. The cattle
were already herded, and the horses in their gears, in readiness to
proceed, so soon as he should indicate that such was his pleasure. The
children were already in their proper vehicle, and, in short, nothing
delayed the departure but the absence of the parents of the wild brood.

"Abner," said the father, with the deliberation with which all his
proceedings were characterised, "take the brother of your mother from
the wagon, and let him stand on the 'arth."

Abiram issued from his place of concealment, trembling, it is true, but
far from destitute of hopes, as to his final success in appeasing the
just resentment of his kinsman. After throwing a glance around him, with
the vain wish of finding a single countenance in which he might detect
a solitary gleam of sympathy, he endeavoured to smother those
apprehensions, that were by this time reviving in their original
violence, by forcing a sort of friendly communication between himself
and the squatter--

"The beasts are getting jaded, brother," he said, "and as we have made
so good a march already, is it not time to camp. To my eye you may go
far, before a better place than this is found to pass the night in."

"Tis well you like it. Your tarry here ar' likely to be long. My sons,
draw nigh and listen. Abiram White," he added, lifting his cap, and
speaking with a solemnity and steadiness, that rendered even his dull
mien imposing, "you have slain my first-born, and according to the laws
of God and man must you die!"

The kidnapper started at this terrible and sudden sentence, with the
terror that one would exhibit who unexpectedly found himself in the
grasp of a monster, from whose power there was no retreat. Although
filled with the most serious forebodings of what might be his lot, his
courage had not been equal to l