A crowd soon collected to view the spectacle.—Rolfe told their story, and dwelt upon the kindness they had shown to the maiden now in the American camp, and their agency in her escape. Their characters won the respect, and their fate excited the sympathy of all. There now only remained the sad duty of interring their remains. Rolfe told Earth, that it was better not to tell Gay, until the last offices were over;—that she was now worn down with fatigue, and to witness them would only add to her distress, without imparting any consolation. Earth accorded with him in opinion, and making such preparations as circumstances permitted, they, assisted by a few friends, bore them away to a quiet part of the town, and deeply deploring their sad fate, consigned them in silence to the grave. The ceremony was sadly contrasted with the scene around it. Rolfe saw the soldiers setting fire to the houses, and eagerly bent on destroying what remained of Indian property. He thought of the fortune which had made him acquainted with several members of that ill-starred race; he reflected upon the many fruitless attempts they had so often made to stay the advance of the whites;—then passed before him the conduct of those who had so nobly served him, and leaving Earth to mingle with the crowd, he returned to the American camp, and seeking her for whose sake he had encountered so many dangers, he said:—“Gay, my love! I must still add another pang to your misfortunes.” “Oh! what! what!” she cried, “does danger threaten you?” “No;—Netnokwa and her daughter”—— “Are killed?” “Yes,” said Rolfe. “Oh! Richard!”—and covering her face, she was silent for a few moments,—“what have I done! all who love me, seem fated to death! Oh! Miskwa; Miskwa! could not all thy virtues save thee!” “Come, love,” said Rolfe, “rather rejoice that you escaped; for the same fate awaited you.” “Oh! Richard! rejoice in the death of one who knew not wrong, and who ever loved her friends more dearly than herself! but for you, I had rather have suffered with her than live and know that I may have brought misfortune on herself and mother. Oh! kind, dear Miskwa!” Rolfe used all his exertions to console her,—assured her that the death of Miskwa and her mother had been caused solely by the cruel orders of the Prophet; and saying every thing that he could to sooth her, left her for a time to her own meditations. The town had been burned, the smoke was still rising from its ruins, the soldiers had all returned to their camp, and it was evening when Rolfe and Gay stood alone over the fresh grave of Netnokwa and her daughter. Upon arriving there, Gay wept bitterly, and vented her grief in passionate exclamations. “Oh! Richard!” she cried, “only a short time since, and she was planning my safety, regardless of her own! and now”—her utterance was choked with grief. “Come, Gay,” said Rolfe, “let us return.”