“Do not speak thus,” cried Valency; “I am strong now—I will go for help.”
“There is no help for me,” replied the chief, “save the death I desire. I command you, move not.”
Valency had risen, but the effort was vain: his knees bent under him, his head spun round; before he could save himself he had sunk to the ground.
“Why torture yourself?” said the chief. “A few hours and help will come: it will not injure you to pass this interval beneath this calm sky. The cowards who fled will alarm the country; by dawn succour will be here: you must wait for it. I too must wait—not for help, but for death. It is soothing even to me to die here beneath this sky, with the murmurs of yonder stream in my ear, the shadows of my native mountains thrown athwart. Could aught save me, it would be the balmy
