“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.  That man—­that dreadful man!  I know him well:  he will come—­he has murdered my cousin, and he is,—­oh Heaven, how black a villain!  Stay with me, Telie, to protect me from that man; stay with me, and I’ll forgive all you have done.”

It was with such wild entreaties Edith, agitated by an excitement that seemed almost to have unsettled her brain, still urged Telie not to abandon her; while Telie, repeating again and again her protestations that no injury was designed or could happen, and that the old woman at the fire was specially deputed to protect her, and would do so, begged to be permitted to go, insisting, with every appearance of sincere alarm, that her father would kill her if she remained,—­that he had forbidden her to come near the prisoner, which, nevertheless, she had secretly done, and would do again, if she could this time avoid discovery.

But her protestations were of little avail in moving Edith to her purpose; and it was only when the latter, worn out by suffering and agitation, and sinking helpless on the couch at her feet, had no longer the power to oppose her, that Telie hurriedly, yet with evident grief and reluctance, tore herself away.  She pressed the captive’s hand to her lips, bathed it in her tears, and then, with many a backward glance of sorrow, stole from the lodge.  Nathan crawled aside as she passed out, and watching a moment until she had fled across the square, returned to his place of observation.  He looked again into the tent, and his heart smote him with pity as he beheld the wretched Edith sitting in a stupor of despair, her head sunk upon her breast, her hands clasped, her ashy lips quivering, but uttering no articulate sound.  “Thee prays Heaven to help thee, poor maid!” he muttered to himself:  “Heaven denied the prayer of them that was as good and as lovely; but thee is not yet forsaken!”