“But the food is poison for Weetano, she will not eat it,” persisted she, somewhat mournfully. “My brother loves the fair maiden of his own land—why should he not! Oliwibatuc, too, would have given his daughter to a dog sooner than to an idle ‘book man.’ When he brought the hatchet and bow of my dead brother and gave them to his captive, he turned away from them and spoke the words of peace, and the warrior sighed—‘Who will hang the trophies of Olo in his father’s wigwam? By his true spirit Weetano shall wed a brave, and he shall be the chief of the Mohawks instead of Olo!’ He has spoken, but the Great Spirit loves Weetano, and will not give her to the Huron, for he will soon lay her beside the still waters to slumber, and the Lily shall bloom for my new brother. Nay, do not weep so—the eye of Weetano can now see the path plainly, and the way looks pleasant, but she was sorry to leave her new brother alone, for though he toils hard to do the Mohawks good they are not his own people, and I know he must sometimes be very sad and lonely. It was for this I plead for him to bring you hither; I knew you were his spirit-mate, and longed to see you both happy.” Anna Temple gazed long and earnestly on the beautiful face that bent over her couch, but was unable to trace thereon a shadow of emotion; its expression was calm and unvarying, and though the clear, dark eyes sparkled brightly, the light they shed was as the brightness of a silver fountain that reflects the moonbeams from its surface soft and almost holy. Her own heart beat wildly, and when she attempted to speak, her voice was choked and broken with sobs. “O, Weetano, do not speak so low and mournfully,” she at length uttered. “You will still live and be happy, you are so good and true! Nurse Judy has sent some medicine, and I know well how to administer it; then I have something else to offer beside; so bend down your ear close to me, Weetano, and I will whisper it.” Weetano did as she was desired, and whatever the words of her companion might have been, they had no effect on the Indian girl, for when she raised her head the same serene smile rested on her features. “The heart of Red-Bird would be weak, indeed, to listen to the words,” she replied. “The white maiden has not read it rightly, for its pride is as stern as the rock of her mountains, that may be broken but cannot be bowed. It fears not the blast! Weetano’s heart is like it—it will bide its lot.” “And its lot may yet be happy—yea, I am persuaded it will be, only do not indulge in dark fancies, Weetano.” “Weetano has no dark fancies now! Sunshine has broken through the dim future since the words of the Lily’s book fell on her ears. The shadowy land has no fears now, and beautiful images beckon me there in slumber! Weetano will come again with messages of good to the Lily and her pale brother, for they taught her the way.”