Shortly after he joined them, they seated themselves by the great tree whose branches sheltered Wenona. They were resting and eating. Sounding Wind stood by them: no one interfered with his gloomy mood--there was that in him that kept them in control. They were all silent, when suddenly a sigh of grief and fatigue was uttered near them. Startled by it, each warrior rose to his feet and grasped his knife and tomahawk. Sounding Wind sprung over the bushes that were between them and the spot from whence the sigh issued. At his feet, just rousing from slumber, was the girl who was dearer to him than home or friends. One gleam of joy at seeing her again, one shade of terror at her probable fate, and the young man, placing himself between her and the Chippeways who had followed him, showed himself ready to protect her so long as his arm could wield the tomahawk that glistened in the sun. "Come not towards her," he said to them, for they had recognised her by her dress, "she is my prisoner. I first touched her--I claim her before you all. I am your chief. I have led you against the Sacs and Foxes, and I will lead you against the Dacotas, who have become our enemies, but this girl's life shall be spared, for she is to be my wife. "I have taken her prisoner: I shall spare her life. Am I not a Chippeway? and shall I forget my promise to her, to make her my wife?" Wenona had covered her face with her hands, every moment expecting the blow that would terminate her sorrows; but no one offered to touch her. They were many and strong in the love of revenge. Sounding Wind was but one; but stronger than a host was the love that made him brave the stern spirits before him. She arose at the bidding of her lover. She eat of their food, and pursued, without fear of harm, her journey to her new home. There, amid the struggles of the Sioux and Chippeways, she was ever safe. And happy, too, save when the remembrance of the fate of her family came between her and the bright visions that cheer and gladden even an Indian woman's home, when the love of her husband and children hallow it. AN INDIAN BALLAD. BY MRS. MARY EASTMAN. "Take me away," said one they called the "Drooping Eye," "Bear me where stoops the deer to drink at eve." She would behold the clouds of heaven float gently by, And hear the birds' sweet song ere earth to leave. Close is the wigwam,--oh! give her light and air; Say, can her spirit wing itself for flight, Losing the perfume borne from flowers fair, As comes on them and her the gloom of night? On them and her,--but they will bloom again, When breaks the day on earth, by sleep spellbound,-- Refreshed by morning winds, or summer's rain, Gilding with colours bright the dewy ground.