The discontented villager did not dare say more.
After a short time, the quietness of slumber seemed to envelop the black tent.
Concealed by the dark, Timokles endeavored with his teeth to loosen the bonds of his wrists.

After prolonged attempts, he undid one knot, and by successive wearisome trials he at length entirely released his left hand.
Timokles was near the black tent.

It seemed to him that he heard the faintest stir within.

But a long silence followed, and he thought he had been mistaken.
Timokles tugged at the thongs of his right hand.

His arm was lame from the leopard's claws, and he could not reach the knots that held him.