"He said, sir, to take you on to the Hall if you should come on, sir," replied the messenger. "There is a great number of Indians up at the Castle already, and he thought you might perhaps not like to be with them altogether."
"Probably not," replied Mr. Prevost, drily; and they rode on upon the direct road till, passing two or three smaller houses, they came in sight of a very large and handsome edifice, built of wood indeed, but somewhat in the style of a European house of the reign of George the First. As they approached the gates, Sir William Johnson himself, now in the full costume of an officer of the British army, came down the steps to meet and welcome them; and little less ceremonious politeness did he display in the midst of the wild woods of America than if he had been at the moment in the halls of St. James's. With stately grace he lifted Edith from her horse, greeted Lord H---- with a deferential bow, shook Mr. Prevost by the hand, and then led them himself to rooms which seemed to have been prepared for them.
"Where is my friend Walter?" he said, as he was about to leave Mr. Prevost to some short repose. "What has induced him to deny his old acquaintance the pleasure of his society? Ha, Mr. Prevost, does he think to find metal more attractive at your lonely dwelling? Perhaps he may be mistaken, for let me tell you the beautiful Otaitsa is here--here in this very house; for our good friend Gore has so completely Anglified her, that what between her Christianity, her beauty, and her delicacy, I believe she is afraid to trust herself with four or five hundred red warriors at the Castle."
He spoke in a gay and jesting tone, and everyone knows the blessed facility which parents have of shutting their eyes to the love affairs of their children. Mr. Prevost did not in the least perceive anything in the worthy general's speech but a good-humored joke at the boyish fondness of his son for a pretty Indian girl, and he hastened to excuse Walter's absence by telling Sir William that he had been sent to Albany on business by Lord H----. He then inquired, somewhat anxiously: "Is our friend the Black Eagle here with his daughter?"
"He is here on the ground," replied Sir William, "but not in the house. His Indian habits are of too old standing to be rooted out like Otaitsa's, and he prefers a bearskin and his own blue blanket to the best bed and quilt in the house. I offered him such accommodation as it afforded, but he declined, with the dignity of a prince refusing the hospitality of a cottage."
"Does he seem in a good humor to-day?" asked Mr. Prevost, hesitating whether he should tell Sir William at a moment when they were likely to be soon interrupted, the event which had caused so much apprehension in his own mind. "You know he is somewhat variable in his mood."
"I never remarked it," replied the other. "I think he is the most civilized savage I ever saw, far more than King Hendrick, though the one, since his father's death, wears a blue coat and the other does not. He did seem a little grave indeed, but the shadows of Indian mirth and gravity are so faint, it is difficult to distinguish them."
While these few words were passing Mr. Prevost had decided upon his course, and he merely replied: "Well, Sir William, pray let Otaitsa know that Edith is here; they will soon be in each other's arms, for the two girls love like sisters."
A few words sprung to Sir William Johnson's lips, which, had they been uttered, might perhaps have opened Mr. Prevost's eyes, at least to the suspicions of his friend. He was on the eve of answering, "And some day they may be sisters," but he checked himself, and nothing but the smile which should have accompanied the words made any reply.
When left alone, the thoughts of Mr. Prevost reverted at once to more pressing considerations. "The old chief knows the event," he said to himself; "he has heard of it--heard the whole, probably--it is wonderful how rapidly intelligence is circulated amongst this people from mouth to mouth."
He was well nigh led away into speculations regarding the strange celerity with which news can be carried orally, and was beginning to calculate how much distance to travel would be saved in a given space, by one man shouting the tidings to another at a distance, when he forced back his mind into the track it had left, and came to the full conclusion from his knowledge of the character of the parties, and from all that he had heard, that certainly the Black Eagle was cognizant of the death of one of his tribe by the hand of Captain Brooks, and probably--though not certainly--had communicated the facts, but not his views and purposes, to his daughter, whose keen eyes were likely to discover much of that which he intended to conceal.
CHAPTER VII
There was a curious and motley assembly, that night, in the halls of Sir William Johnson. There were several ladies and gentlemen from Albany, several young military men, and two or three persons of a class now extinct, but who then drove a thriving commerce, and whose peculiar business it was to trade with the Indians. Some of the latter were exceedingly well educated men, and one or two of them were persons not only of enlightened minds, but of enlarged views and heart. The others were mere brutal speculators, whose whole end and object in life was to wring as much from the savages and give as little in return as possible. Besides these, an Indian chief would, from time to time, appear in the rooms, often marching through in perfect silence, observing all that was going on with dignified gravity, and then going back to his companions at the Castle. Amongst the rest was Otaitsa, still in her Indian costume, but evidently in gala dress, of the finest cloth and the most elaborate embroidery. Not only was she perfectly at her ease, talking to everyone, laughing with many; but the sort of shrinking, timid tenderness which gave her so great a charm in the society of the few whom she loved had given place to a wild spirit of gaiety but little in accordance with the character of her nation.
She glided hither and thither through the room; she rested in one place hardly for a moment; her jests were as light, and sometimes as sharp as those of almost any Parisian dame; and when one of the young officers ventured to speak to her somewhat lightly as the mere Indian girl, she piled upon him a mass of ridicule that wrung tears of laughter from the eyes of one or two older men standing near.
"I know not what has come to the child to-night," said Mr. Gore, who was seated near Edith in one of the rooms; "a wild spirit seems to have seized upon her, which is quite unlike her whole character and nature--unlike the character of her people, too, or I might think that the savage had returned notwithstanding all my care."
"Perhaps it is the novelty and excitement of the scene," said Edith.
"Oh no," answered the missionary, "there is nothing new in this scene to her. She has been at these meetings several times during the last two or three years, but never seemed to yield to their influence as she has done to-night."
"She has hardly spoken a word to me," said Edith. "I hope she will not forget the friends who love her."
"No fear of that, my dear," replied Mr. Gore, "Otaitsa is all heart, and that heart a gentle one; under its influence is she acting now. It throbs with something that we do not know; and those light words that make us smile to hear, have sources deep within her--perhaps of bitterness."
"I think I have heard her say," answered Edith, "that you educated her from her childhood."
"When first I joined the people of the Stone," replied the missionary, "I found her there a young child of three years old. Her mother was just dead, and although her father bore his grief with the stern, gloomy stoicism of his nation, and neither suffered tear to fall nor sigh to escape his lips, I could see plainly enough that he was struck with grief such as the Indian seldom feels and never shows. He received me most kindly, and made my efforts with his people easy; and though I know not to this hour whether with himself I have been successful in communicating blessed light, he gave his daughter altogether up to my charge, and with her I have not failed. I fear in him the savage is too deeply rooted to be ever wrung forth, but her I have made one of Christ's flock indeed."
It seemed as if by a sort of instinct that Otaitsa discovered that she was the subject of conversation between her two friends. Twice she looked around at them from the other side of the room, and then she glided across and seated herself beside Edith. For a moment she sat in silence there, and then leaning her head gracefully