"But it may be dangerous," replied Edith, "if there be Hurons so near; and it is sadly solitary, dear sister."
"Then stay with me for a while," said the girl, who would not affect to deny that her lonely watch was somewhat gloomy.
"I will stay with her and protect her," cried Walter, eagerly; "but, dearest Blossom, if we should see danger, you must fly to the lodge."
"Yes, stay with her, Walter--oh, yes, stay with her," said the unconscious Edith; and so it was settled, for Otaitsa made no opposition, though with a cheek in which something glowed through the brown, and with a lip that curled gently with a meaning smile, she asked: "Perhaps my brother Walter would be elsewhere? He may find a long watch wearisome on the hill and in the wood."
"Let us stay a while ourselves," said Lord H----, seating himself on the grass and gazing forth with a look of interest over the prospect. "Methinks this is a place where one may well dream away an hour without the busiest mind reproaching itself for inactivity."
For two hours the four sat there on the hillside, beneath the tall, shady trees, with the wind breathing softly upon them, the lake glittering before their eyes, the murmur of the waterfall sending music through the air. But to the young Englishman these were but accessories. The fair face of Edith was before his eyes, the melody of her voice in his ears.
At length, however, they rose to go, promising to send one of the slaves from the house with food for Walter and Otaitsa at the hour of noon; and Lord H---- and his fair companion took their way back toward the house. The distance was not very far, but they were somewhat long upon the way. They walked slowly back, and by a different path from that by which they went; and often they stopped to admire some pleasant scene; and often Lord H---- had to assist his fair companion over some rock, and her soft hand rested in his. He gathered for her flowers--the fringed gentian and other late blossoms, and they paused to examine them closely and comment on their loveliness; and once he made her sit down beside him on a bank and tell him the names of all the different trees; and from trees his conversation went on into strange, dreamy, indefinite talk of human beings and human hearts. Thus noon was not far distant when they reached the house, and both Edith and her companion were very thoughtful.
Edith was meditative through the rest of the day. Was it of herself she thought? Was it of him who had been her companion through the greater part of the morning?
There had been no word spoken; there had been no sign given; there had been no intimation to make the seal tremble on the fountain, but the master of its destiny was near. She had had a pleasant ramble with one such as she seldom saw--and that was all.
There had been something that day in the manner of her brother Walter, a hesitation, and yet an eagerness, a timidity unnatural, with a warmth that spoke of passion, which had not escaped her eye. In the sweet Indian girl, too, she had seen signs not equivocal: the fluttering blush, the look full of soul and feeling; the glance suddenly raised to the boy's face and suddenly withdrawn; the eyes full of liquid light, now beaming brightly under sudden emotion, now shaded beneath the long fringe like the moon beneath a passing cloud.
For the first time it seemed to her that a dark, impenetrable curtain was falling between herself and all the ancient things of history; that all indeed was to be new, and strange, and different; and yet she loved Otaitsa well, and had in the last two years seen many a trait which had won esteem as well as love. The old Black Eagle, as her father was called, had ever been a fast and faithful ally of the English; but to Mr. Prevost he had attached himself in a particular manner. An accidental journey on the part of the old sachem had first brought them acquainted, and from that day forward the distance of the Oneida settlement was no impediment to their meeting. Whenever the Black Eagle left his lodge he was sure, in his own figurative language, to wing his flight sooner or later toward the nest of his white brother; and in despite of Indian habits, he almost invariably brought his daughter with him. When any distance or perilous enterprise was on hand, Otaitsa was left at the lodge of the English family, and many a week had she passed there at a time, loved by and loving all its inmates. It was not there, however, that she had acquired her perfect knowledge of the English language, or the other characteristics which distinguished her from the ordinary Indian women. When she first appeared there she spoke the language of the settlers as perfectly as they did, and it was soon discovered that from infancy she had been under the care and instruction of one of the English missionaries--at that time, alas! few--who had sacrificed all that civilized life could bestow for the purpose of bringing the Indian savages into the fold of Christ.
Mr. Prevost judged it quite right that Walter should stay with Otaitsa, and he even sent out the old slave Agrippa, who somehow was famous as a marksman, with a rifle on his shoulder, to act as a sort of scout upon the hillside, and watch anything bearing a hostile aspect.
After dinner, too, he walked out himself, and sat for an hour with his son and the Indian girl, speaking words of affection to her that sunk deep into her heart, and more than once brought drops into her bright eyes. No father's tenderness could exceed that he showed her, and Otaitsa felt as if he were almost welcoming her as a daughter.
Evening had not lost its light when a shout from Walter's voice announced that he was drawing nigh the house, and in a moment after he was coming across the cleared land with his bright young companion and two other persons. One was a tall redman, upward of six feet in height, dressed completely in the Indian garb, but without paint. He could not have been less than sixty years of age, but his strong muscles seemed to have set at defiance the bending power of time. He was as upright as a pine, and he bore his heavy rifle in his right hand as lightly as if it had been a reed. In his left he carried a long pipe, showing that his errand was one of peace, though in his belt were a tomahawk and a scalping knife; and he wore the sort of feather crown, or gostoweh, distinguishing the chief. The other man might be of the same age, or a little older. He, too, seemed active and strong for his years, but he wanted the erect and powerful bearing of the other, and his gait and carriage, as much as his features and complexion, distinguished him from the Indian. His dress was a strange mixture of ordinary European costume and that of the half-savage rangers of the forest. He wore a black coat, or one that had once been black, but the rest of his garments were composed of skins, some tanned into red leather, after the Indian fashion, some with the hair still on and turned outward. He bore no arms whatever, unless a very long, sharp-pointed knife could be considered a weapon, though in his hands it only served the unusual service of dividing his food or carving willow whistles for the children of the sachem's tribe.
Running with a light foot by the side of the chief, as he strode along, came Otaitsa; but all the others followed the Indian fashion, coming after him in single file, while old Agrippa, with his rifle on his arm, brought up the rear, appearing from the wood somewhat behind the rest.
"It is seldom I have so many parties of guests in two short days," said Mr. Prevost, moving toward the door. "Generally I have either a whole tribe at once, or none at all. But this is one of my best friends, my lord, and I must go to welcome him."
"He is a noble-looking man," said the young officer, following. "This is the Black Eagle, I suppose, whom the pretty maiden talked of?"
Mr. Prevost made no reply, for by this time the chief's long strides had brought him almost to the door, and his hand was already extended to grasp that of his white friend.
"Welcome, Black Eagle!" said Mr. Prevost.
"Thou art my brother," said the chief in English, but of a much less pure character than that of his daughter.
"What news from Corlear?" asked Mr. Prevost.
But the Indian answered not; and the man who followed him replied in so peculiar a style that we must give his words, although they imported very little as far as the events to be related are concerned.
"All is still on the banks of Champlain Lake," he said; "but Huron tracks are still upon the shore. The friendly Mohawks watched them come and go, and tell us that the Frenchman, too, was there, painted and feathered like the Indian chiefs; but