"Indian, I have never been nearer the rising sun than thou. But tell me the object of thy visit. Why dost thou seek me now, when but a few days since thou didst chide the squaw for her willingness to oblige me?" "The lips of Ohquamehud spoke folly. He did not then know that this brother had talked to the Master of Life, who granted to him the life of Huttamoiden's child. The blood of Huttamoiden runs in these veins." The explanation was perfectly natural, and whatever suspicion had arisen in Holden's mind vanished. It seemed not surprising that the Indian, who also, by uttering his name, had proclaimed himself a Pequot, should be willing to form the acquaintance of one who had proved himself a friend to his tribe, and probably was invested in his imagination with the qualities of a "great medicine." But, though to Holden's high-wrought fancies, the recovery of the boy had seemed miraculous, and he could not avoid connecting his prayers with it, yet he shrank from directly claiming so great a power as the Indian ascribed to him. "The issues of life and death are with the Great Spirit," he said. "At his pleasure he breathes into our nostrils, and we live; or he turns away his face, and we die. Let not my brother give too much credit to a worm." The wily Indian, from the other's altered tone and manner, perceived his advantage, and was not slow to use it. "Because my white brother loved his red brethren, he sought them in their lodges, and there they taught him their language. So when the boy was departing for the happy hunting grounds, my brother remembered their kindness, and held the child by the hand, and would not let him go." The face of the Solitary worked with emotion while the other was speaking. "Would that I could explain," he said. "But thou art unable to understand. How canst thou know a Christian heart?" "The heart of Ohquamehud is a man's." "Aye; but a savage knows not, and despises forgiveness. I was a stately pine, whose branches mingled with the clouds, and the birds came and lodged therein. And a storm arose, and thunders rolled, and the lightning struck it, and its pride and glory tumbled to the ground. And it was burnt up, all save this blasted trunk." He uttered this with a wild frenzy, and as if hardly conscious of the presence of another. "Doth the lightning fall from a clear sky?" said the Indian, after a pause. "It is long since a black cloud burst over the ancient hunting-grounds of the Pequots." "Where the streams run toward the setting sun, the thunderbolt struck. Why was it not me instead of those dearer to me than life?" "A bird hath sung to Ohquamehud that the land is pleasant, and the hunter only extends his hand to find something to savor his broth and to cover his feet."