This would have been enough to convince her that she stood by the warrior's grave, had the place been solitary, but at the root of the hemlock, with her arms folded on her bosom and her calm face uplifted toward heaven, sat Malaeska. Her lips were slightly parted, and the song which Sarah had listened to afar off broke from them--a sad pleasant strain, that blended in harmony with the rippling waters and the gentle sway of the hemlock branches overhead. Sarah remained motionless till the last note of the song died away on the lake, then she stepped forward into the inclosure. The Indian woman saw her and arose, while a beautiful expression of joy beamed over her face. "The bird does not feel more joyful at the return of spring, when snows have covered the earth all winter, than does the poor Indian's heart at the sight of her child again," she said, taking the maiden's hand and kissing it with a graceful movement of mingled respect and affection. "Sit down, that I may hear the sound of your voice once more." They sat down together at the foot of the hemlock. "You have been lonely, my poor friend, and ill, I fear; how thin you have become during my absence," said Sarah, gazing on the changed features of her companion. "I shall be happy again now," replied the Indian, with a faint sweet smile, "you will come to see me every day." "Yes, while I remain at home, but--but--I'm going back again soon." "You need not tell me more in words, I can read it in the tone of your voice, in the light of that modest eye,--in the color coming and going on those cheeks; another is coming to take you from home," said the Indian, with a playful smile. "Did you think the lone woman could not read the signs of love--that she has never loved herself? "You?" "Do not look so wild, but tell me of yourself. Are you to be married so _very_ soon?" "In four days." "Then where will your home be?" "In Manhattan." There were a few moments of silence. Sarah sat gazing on the turf, with the warm blood mantling to her cheek, ashamed and yet eager to converse more fully on the subject which flooded her young heart with supreme content. The Indian continued motionless, lost in a train of sad thoughts conjured up by the last word uttered; at length she laid her hand on that of her companion, and spoke; her voice was sad, and tears stood in her eyes. "In a few days you go from me again--oh, it is very wearisome to be always alone; the heart pines for something to love. I have been petting a little wren, that has built his nest under the eaves of my wigwam, since you went away; it was company for me, and will be again. Do not look so pitiful, but tell me who is he that calls the red blood to your cheek? Does he love you? Is he good, brave?" "He says that he loves me," replied the young girl, blushing more deeply. "And you?"