"Oh!" the hunter cried shuddering, "my presentiments were a warning from Heaven;—my mother! my mother!"
Loyal Heart fell upon the ground in utter despair; he concealed his face in his hands and wept.
The grief of this high-spirited man, endowed with a courage proof against all trials, and whom no danger could surprise, was like that of the lion, it had something terrific in it.
His sobs were like roarings, they rent his breast.
Belhumeur respected the grief of his friend—indeed what consolation could he offer him? It was better to allow his tears to flow, and give the first paroxysm of despair time to calm itself; certain that his unyielding nature could not long be cast down, and that a reaction would soon come, which would permit him to act.
Still, with that instinct innate to hunters, he began to look about on all sides, in the hope of finding some indication which might afterwards serve to direct their researches.
After wandering for a long time about the ruins, he was suddenly attracted towards a large bush at a little distance from him by barkings which he thought he recognised.
He advanced towards it precipitately; a bloodhound like their own jumped up joyfully upon him, and covered him with wild caresses.
"Oh, oh!" said the hunter, "what does this mean? Who has tied poor Trim up in this fashion?"
He cut the rope which fastened the animal, and, in doing so, perceived that a piece of carefully folded paper was tied to its neck.