Notwithstanding the noise of the falling waters, and the roaring of the boiling waves below, there was great beauty mingled with the grandeur of the scene. The width of the river at this point made the height of the Falls appear less than it really was. The association connected with the death of Wenona,[26] the injured, but loving wife, gave a romantic cast to the red man's thoughts, as he rested from the toils of the chase near this beautiful scene. He could identify the very spot where she raised her arms, while the notes of her death-song pealed above all other sounds, as her slight canoe bent towards her child's and her own grave. He marvelled that the boiling of the waters did not appal her, or that the voice of her husband did not rouse her from her fatal purpose. But now there is no person near, to take from the solitary beauty of the scene. If the screaming of the loon were heard, it was immediately followed by the flapping of her wings, as she passed to the spirit lakes, over whose quiet surface she loved better to rest. The deer were all far distant;--the shade of the forest trees was more acceptable now than the rays of the summer's sun. Whatever might be the burden of the song of the waters, it was unheard, save by the spirits that are ever assembled in numbers around this hallowed spot. When the intense heat had passed away, a fresh, invigorating wind was felt among the rocks and waves. Evening was unfolding her mantle, and her breath was playing over the bright flowers that even here enjoy their short season of life. The flitting clouds were gathering towards the horizon, constantly changing their hues, and resting in golden lines above the hills. Large fish, the bass, and the pike, moved at their ease in the restless waters, as if there were no fear of being bearded in this their stronghold. The beautiful red deer, too, has been tempted to come and be refreshed,--ever on their guard, though, as might be seen by the tossing of their heads when the winds rose and whispered over the earth. Now they start and flee like lightning, for the light sound of woman's step is heard; and in the very spot where one of them rested, looking over the waves, stands a slight figure, bearing in her face and form the marks of youth, while her short and richly embroidered skirt, and the crimson okendokenda, that partly covered her arms and chest, showed her to belong to a family at least not unimportant among her people. She stood still for some moments in a listening attitude, her face pale, and every feature fixed in intense thought. She carried a bundle of small size: this she seemed to think of value, for she grasped it as if her life depended on the preservation of what it contained. Turning towards the course of the rocks by the river's edge, she surveyed their way; then, bending where she stood, she looked unappalled at the waters becoming dark by the shadows of evening.