Kenah, with his captives, departed from the lodge of Netnokwa at night. Oloompa, with Rolfe and Earth, reached there late on the following day. Upon nearing the lodge, they were happy, and all spurred their horses, and moved gallantly forward. Oh! the wild delight that sparkled in the face of Rolfe! a moment more, and he would clasp to his bosom the idol of his heart! and Oloompa's heart fluttered, and joy beamed from his countenance; for as deep passions often burn within those whose complexions are the “shadowed livery of the burnished sun,” as to another class to whom nature has given clear skins, and brighter hues; and he thought of Miskwa bounding wild and free as the doe she hunted, and he heard her happy laugh, and the silvery tones of her voice fell rich on his ears. As for our old friend Earth, he never could do things as others did them; his heart had never been taught to love, yet though a stranger to the emotions which agitated the breasts of his companions, he was still happy; he was joyous, in anticipating the pleasure which awaited his friend, and, moreover, he was anxious to see her after whom he had been so long “trapesing,” as he termed it, and but a short time before he observed, “Rolfe, I feel a sort of a quirk to see your gal;”—so that, when Rolfe and Oloompa put their horses in a gallop, to reach Netnokwa's lodge, he followed on in a long trot, and while they thought of those they loved, he hummed an old song, beginning, “'Way down in old Virginny, Long time ago:”—— but the trotting of his horse, chopped it up into monosyllables, or I would say shorter pieces, if I knew how to characterize them, and not being much pleased with his own performance, he ceased singing, and jerking “Juno,” for so he called his horse, into a canter, he rode up by the side of Rolfe. Another moment, and they had halted in front of the cabin. Then, dismounting,—“how is this?” said Earth;—“the door closed, and nobody at home!” Rolfe and Oloompa were both disappointed; yet the latter, after a moment, answered:—“They make a short path,—they have gone to bring a deer from the woods,—they will soon be back.” This seemed probable enough, and they proceeded to hobble their horses, and then turned them out to graze. Having done that, they began to reconnoitre the cabin. “How high is the sun, Earth?” inquired Rolfe. “Something like three hours,” replied Earth, who at the moment when spoken to, was examining how the door was fastened. “Rolfe,” continued he, “this place aint locked,—it is only fastened by a wicket; suppose we go in, and see if we can't git a bite of something, for I feel rather pickish. I am sure, neither the old woman nor the gal will care, since we are just off a journey. What say you, Oloompa?” “It is right,” he replied; “an Indian's wigwam is the stranger's home. An Indian always gives what he has.”