I hated you ever,--I hate you yet." "My fair mistress," said Braxley, with a sneer that might have well become the lip of the devil he had pronounced the then ruler of his breast, "knows not all the alternative.

Death is a boon the savages may bestow, when the whim takes them.

But before that, they must show their affection for their prisoner.

There are many that can admire the bright eyes and ruddy cheeks of the white maiden; and some one, doubtless, will admit the stranger to a corner of his wigwam and his bosom! Ay, madam, I will speak plainly,--it is as the wife of Richard Braxley or of a pagan savage you go out of the tent of Wenonga.

Or why go out of the tent of Wenonga at all?
Is Wenonga insensible to the beauty of his guest?
The hag that I drove from the fire, seemed already to see in her prisoner the maid that was to rob her of her husband." "Heaven help me!" exclaimed Edith, sinking again to her seat, wholly overcome by the horrors it was the object of the wooer to accumulate on her mind.