The third person of the group was an Indian beldam, old, withered, and witch-like, who sat crouching over the fire, warming her skinny hands, and only intermitting her employment occasionally to eye the more youthful pair with looks of malignant hatred and suspicion.
The gale was still freshening, and the elm-boughs rustled loudly in the wind; but Nathan could overhear every word of the captive, as, still grasping Telie by the hand, she besought her, in the language of desperation, "not to leave her, not to desert her, at such a moment;" while Telie, shedding tears, which seemed to be equally those of shame and sorrow, entreated her to fear nothing, and permit her to depart.
"They won't hurt you,--no, my father promised that," she said: "it is the chief's house, and nobody will come nigh to hurt you.

You are safe, lady; but, oh! my father will kill me, if he finds me here." "It was your father that caused it all!" cried Edith, with a vehement change of feeling; "it was _he_ that betrayed us, _he_ that killed, oh! killed my Roland! Go!--I hate you! Heaven will punish you for what you have done; Heaven will never forgive the treachery and the murder--Go, go! they will kill me, and then all will be well,--yes, all will be well!" But Telie, thus released, no longer sought to fly.

She strove to obtain and kiss the hand that repelled her, sobbing bitterly, and reiterating her assurances that no harm was designed the maiden.
"No,--no harm! Do I not know it all ?" exclaimed Edith, again giving way to her fears, and grasping Telie's arm.

"_You_ are not like your father; if you betrayed me once, you will not betray me again.

Stay with me,--yes, stay with me, and I'll forgive you,--forgive you all.