Slowly and sadly they wended their way to the encampment, the guide bringing up the rear. He was thoroughly convinced that Prairie–bird had spoken the truth: every look, every accent carried conviction with it; but he feared for the meeting between the young men, being fully aware of the impetuosity of Reginald’s character, and of the intense excitement that now affected the Indian’s mind. He determined, however, to leave them to themselves, for he had lived enough among men of stormy and ungoverned passions to know, that in a _tête–à–tête_ between two high and generous spirits a concession will often be made, to which pride might, in the presence of others, never have submitted. On reaching their quarters in the encampment, they found Paul Müller standing thoughtfully before Prairie–bird’s tent, into which, after exchanging a brief but cordial greeting, he and the maiden withdrew, leaving Reginald and the guide to retire into the adjoining lodge of Tamenund. War–Eagle, who had posted himself in a spot whence, without being seen himself, he could observe their movements, now walked slowly forward to the entrance of the tent, into which he was immediately invited by the missionary; his manner was grave and composed, nor could the most observant eye have traced in the lines of his countenance the slightest shade of excitement or agitation. After the usual salutation, he said, “War–Eagle will speak to the Black Father presently; he has now low words for the ear of Olitipa.” Paul Müller, looking on him with a smile, benevolent though somewhat melancholy, said, “I shut my ears, my son, and go, for I know that War–Eagle will speak nothing that his sister should not hear;” and so saying, he retired into his adjacent compartment of the tent. Prairie–bird, conscious of the painful scene that awaited her, sat in embarrassed silence, and for upwards of a minute War–Eagle contemplated without speaking the sad but lovely expression of the maiden’s countenance; that long and piercing look told him all that he dreaded to know; he saw that Baptiste had spoken to her; he saw that his hopes were blasted; and still his riveted gaze was fixed upon her, as the eyes of one banished for life dwell upon the last receding tints of the home that he is leaving for ever. Collecting, at length, all the stoic firmness of his nature, he spoke to her in the Delaware tongue; the words that he used were few and simple, but in them, and in the tone of his voice, there was so much delicacy mingled with such depth of feeling, that Prairie–bird could not refrain from tears.