Boulanger kissed his wife and children, and then, shouldering his rifle, he quitted the cottage. There are few spots near Quebec more picturesque than those so-called "Natural Steps" on the Montmorency River. Between almost perpendicular rocks, that look like huge stone towers, or the ruins of ancient walls, the little river foams and rushes along, over and between great flat slabs of stone, which here and there assume the shape of steps as regular as if the hand of man had fashioned them. The summits of the castellated banks are crowned with trees, and wherever their rocky steepness will allow of it, luxuriant shrubs grow in profusion from every crevice, and add another charm to the wild beauty of the scene. Long had Amoahmeh stood alone on one of those rocky steps, pale and anxious, and evidently expecting some one to meet her there. He came at last, and White Eagle stood before her. For a short time neither of them spoke; each seemed under some strange constraint. Perhaps the Indian could not shake off the awe with which his race regard all those who are, or have been, deprived of the light of reason. Amoahmeh had risen above such childish superstitions, but she seemed as though the chief possessed some hold over her which had power to subdue even her lofty spirit. She was the first to speak. "White Eagle has bidden me come here. What would he have of me?" "Can the daughter of War-thunder ask?" was the reply. "Did she not promise that if I brought back the young French brave from Fort Duquesne the wigwam of the chief of the Algonquins should remain no longer empty. He is safe in Quebec and among his friends; Amoahmeh will keep her promise." "To whom did she give that promise? To a great chief who fought under the flag of France, ay, and one who professed to have forsaken the worship of Manitou for a holier faith. What is White Eagle now that he should ask her, or even wish her, to keep that promise?" "He is not a girl that he should kneel at the bidding of a French priest," retorted the Indian, with evident irritation, "nor a child that he should let a squaw choose for him what war-path he shall tread. Is Amoahmeh a cheating French trader, who, when he has gotten the red skin's peltries that he bargained for, refuses to pay for them? She will keep faith." "Faith!" replied Amoahmeh, indignantly. "How dares White Eagle even name the word with the scalps of the friends he swore to fight for to the death hanging at his belt? Amoahmeh at least will never desert those she loves." "Ay," rejoined the chief, passionately, "her white soul only loves the pale faces; she hates the red skin now, and would fain be happy in the wigwam of the young French warrior."