ief, but Magua
stayed the uplifted arms. The Huron chief, after casting the weapons he
had wrested from his companions over the rock, drew his knife, and
turned to his captive, with a look in which conflicting passions
fiercely contended.

"Woman," he said, "choose; the wigwam or the knife of Le Subtil!"

Cora regarded him not, but dropping on her knees, she raised her eyes
and stretched her arms towards heaven, saying, in a meek and yet
confiding voice,--

"I am thine! do with me as thou seest best!"

"Woman," repeated Magua, hoarsely, and endeavoring in vain to catch a
glance from her serene and beaming eye, "choose!"

But Cora neither heard nor heeded his demand. The form of the Huron
trembled in every fibre, and he raised his arm on high, but dropped it
again with a bewildered air, like one who doubted. Once more he
struggled with himself and lifted the keen weapon again; but just then a
piercing cry was heard above them, and Uncas appeared, leaping
frantically, from a fearful height, upon the ledge. Magua recoiled a
step; and one of his assistants, profiting by the chance, sheathed his
own knife in the bosom of Cora.

The Huron sprang like a tiger on his offending and already retreating
countryman, but the falling form of Uncas separated the unnatural
combatants. Diverted from his object by this interruption, and maddened
by the murder he had just witnessed, Magua buried his weapon in the back
of the prostrate Delaware, uttering an unearthly shout as he committed
the dastardly deed. But Uncas arose from the blow, as the wounded
panther turns upon his foe, and struck the murderer of Cora to his feet,
by an effort in which the last of his failing strength was expended.
Then, with a stern and steady look, he turned to Le Subtil, and
indicated by the expression of his eye, all that he would do, had not
the power deserted him. The latter seized the nerveless arm of the
unresisting Delaware, and passed his knife into his bosom three several
times, before his victim, still keeping his gaze riveted on his enemy
with a look of inextinguishable scorn, fell dead at his feet.

"Mercy! mercy! Huron," cried Heyward, from above, in tones nearly
choked by horror; "give mercy, and thou shalt receive it!"

Whirling the bloody knife up at the imploring youth, the victorious
Magua uttered a cry so fierce, so wild, and yet so joyous, that it
conveyed the sounds of savage triumph to the ears of those who fought in
the valley,