had dressed themselves in sombre habiliments, according to the general aspect of all things around them; and, as the unfortunate pedler continued to gaze in wonderment, his fear grew with every progressive step in his observation.  One by one, however, the old women commenced stirring, and, as they moved, now before and now behind him—­his eyes following them on every side—­he at length discovered, amid the group, the small and delicate form of the very being for whom he sought.

There, indeed, were Lucy Munro and her aunt, holding a passive character in the strange assembly.  This was encouraging; and Bunce, forgetting his wonder in the satisfaction which such a prospect afforded him, endeavored to force his way forward to them, when a salutary twitch of the arm from one of the beldam troop, by tumbling him backward upon the floor of the cavern, brought him again to a consideration of his predicament.  He could not be restrained from speech, however—­though, as he spoke, the old women saluted his face on all hands with strokes from brushes of fern, which occasioned him no small inconvenience.  But he had gone too far now to recede; and, in a broken manner—­broken as much by his own hurry and vehemence as by the interruptions to which he was subjected—­he contrived to say enough to Lucy of the situation of Colleton, to revive in her an interest of the most painful character.  She rushed forward, and was about to ask more from the beleaguered pedler; but it was not the policy of those having both of them in charge to permit such a proceeding.  One of the stoutest of the old women now came prominently upon the scene, and, with a rough voice, which it is not difficult to recognise as that of Munro, commanded the young girl away, and gave her in charge to two attendants.  But she struggled still to hear, and Bunce all the while speaking, she was enabled to gather most of the particulars in his narration before her removal was effected.

The mummery now ceased, and Bunce having been carried elsewhere, the maskers resumed their native apparel, having thrown aside that which had been put on for a distinct purpose.  The pedler, in another and more secure department of the robbers’ hiding-place, was solaced with the prospect of a long and dark imprisonment.

In the meantime, our little friend Chub Williams had been made to undergo his own distinct punishment for his share in the adventure.  No sooner had Bunce been laid by the heels, than Rivers, who had directed the whole, advanced from the shelter of the cave, in company with his lieutenant, Dillon, both armed with rifles, and, without saying a word, singling out the tree on which Chub had perched himself, took deliberate aim at the head of the unfortunate urchin.  He saw the danger in an instant, and his first words were characteristic:  “Now don’t—­don’t, now, I tell you, Mr. Guy—­you may hit Chub!”

“Come down, then, you rascal!” was the reply, as, with a laugh, lowering the weapon, he awaited the descent of the spy.  “And now, Bur, what have you to say that I shouldn’t wear out a hickory or two upon you?”