So saying, he advanced to the very edge of the narrow stream! The maiden, although alarmed, retained sufficient presence of mind to know that to save herself by flight was impossible; but the courage of insulted virtue supported her, and she answered him in a tone that breathed more of indignation than of fear: “Olitipa is not alone—is not unprotected! The Great Spirit is her protector, before whom the stature of Mahéga is as a blade of grass, and his strength like that of an infant. See,” she continued, drawing from her girdle a small, sharp–pointed dagger, “Olitipa is not unprotected: if Mahéga moves a foot to cross that stream, this knife shall reach her heart; and the great Mahéga will go to the hunting–fields of the dead, a coward, and a woman–slayer.” As she spoke these words she held the dagger pointed to her bosom, now heaving with high emotion; her form seemed to dilate, and her dark eye kindled with a prouder lustre. The glow on her cheek, and the lofty dignity of her attitude, only heightened her beauty in the eyes of the savage, and confirmed him in carrying out his fell purpose, to ensure the success of which he saw that stratagem, not force, must be employed: assuming, therefore, a sarcastic tone of voice, he replied,— “Olitipa trusts to the edge of her knife; Mahéga laughs at her.” Then he continued, in a louder key, as if addressing an Indian behind her, “Let Wânemi seize her arm and hold it.” As the surprised maiden turned her head in the direction where she expected to see the Indian to whom Mahéga was speaking, that crafty chief cleared the brook at a bound, and seizing her waist, while a smile of triumph lit up his features, said, “The pretty one is Mahéga’s prisoner; there is no one here but himself; a cunning tale tickled the ears of Olitipa.” The hapless girl saw how she had been outwitted by the savage: she struggled in vain to free herself from his grasp, and a faint scream of despair broke from her lips.