When the Indians saw the entrance to their council darkened by a woman, dead silence fell upon them, followed by a fierce murmur that would have made a person who feared death tremble. Malaeska stood undismayed, surveying the savage group with a calm, regretful look; for among the old men, she saw some that had been upon the war-path with her father. Turning to one of these warriors, she said: "It is Malaeska, daughter of the Black Eagle." A murmur of angry surprise ran through the lodge and the women crowded together, menacing her with their glances. "When my husband, the young white chief, died," continued Malaeska, "he told me to go down the great water and carry my son to his own people. The Indian wife obeys her chief." A warrior, whom Malaeska knew as the friend of her father, arose with austere gravity, and spoke: "It is many years since Malaeska took the young chief to his white fathers. The hemlock that was green has died at the top since then. Why does Malaeska come back to her people alone? Is the boy dead?" Malaeska turned pale in the twilight, and her voice faltered. "The boy is not dead--yet Malaeska is alone!" she answered plaintively. "Has the woman made a white chief of the boy? Has he become the enemy of our people?" said another of the Indians looking steadily at Malaeska. Malaeska knew the voice and the look; it was that of a brave who, in his youth, had besought her to share his wigwam. A gleam of proud reproach came over her features, as she bent her head without answering. Then the old chief spoke again. "Why does Malaeska come back to her tribe like a bird with its wings broken? Has the white chief driven her from his wigwam?" Malaeska's voice broke out; the gentle pride of her character rose as the truth of her position presented itself. "Malaeska obeyed the young chief, her husband, but her heart turned back to her own people. She tried to bring the boy into the forest again, but they followed her up the great river and took him away; Malaeska stands here alone." Again the Indian spoke. "The daughter of the Black Eagle forsook her tribe when the death-song of her father was loud in the woods. She comes back when the corn is ripe, but there is no wigwam open to her. When a woman of the tribe goes off to the enemy, she returns only to die. Have I said well?" A guttural murmur of assent ran through the lodge. The women heard it from their place in the open air, and gathering fiercely around the door, cried out, "Give her to us! She has stolen our chief--she has disgraced her tribe. It is long since we have danced at the fire-festival." The rabble of angry women came on with their taunts and menaces, attempting to seize Malaeska, who stood pale and still before them; but the chief, whom she had once rejected, stood up, and with a motion of his hand repulsed them.