on the trampled turf, and his mind foreboded disaster.  He hastened to the margin of the beetling crag, and peering over it, saw Ohquamehud hanging by Holden’s arm, and struggling to pull him down.  Quadaquina stepped back, and from the loose stones lying round, picked up one as large as he could lift, and going to the edge, dropped it full upon the head of Ohquamehud.  The Indian instantly let go his hold, falling a distance of eighty feet, and grazing against the side of the huge rock on his way, until with a splash he was swallowed up in the foaming water that whirled him out of sight.

Quadaquina watched the body as it went gliding down the rocks, and dashing into the torrent, until it could be seen no more, and then, as if terrified at his own act, and without waiting to see what had become of the man to whom he had rendered so timely a service, started on a run for his home.

As for Holden, upon the weight being withdrawn from his arm, he slowly gathered himself up and sat upright on the rock; nor did he know to what he owed his deliverance.  He possibly ascribed it to the exhaustion of his foe.  He felt jar’d and bruised, but no bones were broken:  his heart swelled with thankfulness, and raising his eyes to heaven, he poured forth a thanksgiving.

“The enemy came against me,” he ejaculated, “like a lion that is greedy of his prey, and as it were a young lion lurking in secret places.  But thou didst arise, O Lord, thou didst disappoint him and cast him down; thou didst deliver my soul from the wicked.  For thou didst gird me with strength unto the battle, thou didst enlarge my steps under me, that my feet did not slip.  He was wounded that he was not able to rise.  He fell under my feet.  It was Thy doing, O Lord, because thou hadst respect unto the supplications of thy servant.  Therefore my lips shall greatly rejoice, when I sing unto Thee, and my soul which thou hast redeemed.”

After this expression of his thanks, he clambered with some difficulty, by the assistance of the shrubs that grew in the crevices along the sloping platform, until he had attained to the top of the rock whence he had fallen.  He cast his eyes below, but nothing was to be seen but the wild torrent:  no sign, no trace of the Indian.  Holden shuddered as he thought of Ohquamehud, cut off in his atrocious attempt, and breathed a prayer that his savage ignorance might palliate his crime; then exhausted and sore, and pondering the frightful danger he had escaped, slowly took his way towards the village.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

  But is there yet no other way besides
  Those painful passages, how we may come
  To death, and mix with our connatural dust? 
  “There is,” said Michael, “if thou will observe
  The rule of not too much, by temperance taught.”

  MILTON’S PARADISE LOST.

  Till oft converse with heavenly habitants,
  Begin to cast a beam on th’ outward shape,
  The unpolluted temple of the mind,
  And turns it by degrees to the soul’s essence,
  Till all be made immortal.