“Nothing, dear father,” she replied, with a faint smile; “it was a dream, a strange dream, which that name recalled, and confused my head: we are now close to the camp, I will go in and rest awhile; perhaps you may like to talk more with Ne—I mean,” she added, hesitating, “with Reginald.” So saying, and saluting them with that natural grace which belonged to all her movements, she withdrew towards the camp, and Reginald’s eyes followed her retreating figure until it was lost behind the canvasss folds that protected the opening to her tent. CHAPTER II. REGINALD HOLDS A CONVERSATION WITH THE MISSIONARY. Reginald still kept his eyes on the opening through which Prairie–bird had disappeared into the tent, as though they could have pierced through the canvasss that concealed from his view its lovely inhabitant: his feelings were in a state of confusion and excitement, altogether new to him; for if, in his European travels, he had paid a passing tribute of admiration to the beauties who had crossed his path, and whom his remarkable personal advantages had rendered by no means insensible to his homage, the surface only of his heart had been touched; whereas now its deepest fountains were stirred, and the troubled waters gushed forth with overwhelming force. He was recalled to himself by the voice of the missionary, who, without appearing to notice his abstraction, said, “My son, if you choose that we should prolong our walk, I am ready to accompany you.” If the truth must be told, Reginald could at that moment scarcely endure the presence of any human being: he felt an impulse to rush into the woods, or over the plain, and to pour forth in solitude the torrent of feelings by which he was oppressed; but he controlled himself, not only because he really felt a respect for the good missionary, but also because he hoped through him to obtain some information respecting the extraordinary being who had taken such sudden possession of his thoughts: he replied, therefore, that he would willingly accompany him, and they took their way together along the banks of the streamlet, alternately observing on the scenery and surrounding objects. This desultory conversation did not long suit the eager and straightforward character of Reginald Brandon; and he changed it by abruptly inquiring of his companion, whether he knew any thing of the history and parentage of Prairie–bird. “Not much,” replied Paul Müller, smiling; “she was with this band of Delawares when I first came to reside among them: if any one knows her history, it must be Tamenund; but he keeps it a profound secret, and gives out among the tribe that she was sent to him by the Great Spirit, and that as long as she remains with the band they will be successful in hunting and in war.” “But how,” inquired Reginald, “can he make such a tale pass current among a people who are well known to consider the female sex in so inferior and degraded a light?”