After a hearty repast the savages, with the exception of the chief, rolled themselves in their warm, hairy robes before the glowing fire, and were soon steeped in profound slumber.  The chief long reclined in a half-recumbent attitude on the couch that had been prepared for him, and fixing his eyes on the glaring flame, and sometimes on the pale sad features of Mary, seemed to be under the influence of deep and painful meditations.  At times his features assumed a ferocity that caused Mary to start and tremble; but at others they wore a mournful expression, and ever and anon a tear rose up and glistened in his eye.  Thus he sat for more than an hour after all the rest were sunk in motionless slumber.  Finally his bedecked head, adorned with a profusion of rich and rare feathers, sunk by degrees on the rude pillow, and he too was soon wandering in the land of dreams.

But sleep brooded not upon the watchful lids of Mary.  She gazed in silence at the wild savage scene before her.  The uncouth beings who had so recently hooted and yelled like sanguinary demons, with intent to slay and pillage, around her father, her friends and herself, now lay motionless, though free and still hostile, within a few feet of her, and she was their captive!  She thought of her humble but peaceful home, and sighed bitterly.  And she thought, too, of her distressed friends, and she was the more distressed from the consciousness that they sympathized with her sufferings.  Poor girl!  She looked at the dark brows and compressed lips of her captors as the fitful flashes of the flames threw a bright ray upon them, and, in despite of the many hopes she had entertained, she was horror-stricken to contemplate the reality of her sad predicament.

At a late and solemn hour, the Indian who had been the captive the night before, suddenly ceased his snoring, which had been heard without intermission for a great length of time; and when Mary instinctively cast her eyes towards him, she was surprised to see him gently and slowly raise his head.  He enjoined silence by placing his hand upon his mouth.  After carefully disengaging himself from his comrades, he crept quietly away, and soon vanished entirely from sight on the northern side of the spreading beech.  Mary expected he would soon return and assist her to escape.  Although she was aware of the hardships and perils that would attend her flight, yet the thought of again meeting her friends was enough to nerve her for the undertaking, and she waited with anxious impatience the coming of her rescuer.  But he came not.  She could attribute no other design in his conduct but that of effecting her escape, and yet he neither came for her nor beckoned her away.  She had reposed confidence in his promise, for she knew that the Indian, savage as he was, rarely forfeited his word; but when gratitude inspired a pledge, she could not believe that he would use deceit.  The fire was now burning quite low, and its waning light scarce cast a beam