Mahéga willingly consented to the interview, justly believing that it would rather forward than retard his plan for compelling her consent, compared with which the boy’s life weighed not a feather in the balance, so he ordered him to be conveyed to her tent; and the guards who conducted him having informed her that if she unbound his hands, he would be instantly seized and removed, they retired to the aperture, awaiting the termination of the meeting with their habitual listless indifference. Prairie–bird cared not whether they listened, as she spoke to her young brother in English, of which she knew that they understood little or nothing. “Dear Wingenund,” she said, “you heard the threat uttered by that savage, after he struck you?” “I did.” “Is there no device or means by which we can contrive your escape? we may trust the Comanche girl.” “I do not see any,” replied the boy calmly; “the eyes of the Osage chief are open, the hands of his warriors are many and ready. It does not matter; War–Eagle and Netis will be here soon; then all will go well.” “All well!” said Prairie–bird, shuddering. “Know you not, that to–morrow I must consent to be the wife of the Osage, or be the cause, and the witness of my brother’s horrible death?” Wingenund looked at her with unfeigned surprise. “The daughter of Tamenund—the Prairie–bird sent by the Great Spirit, from an unknown land, to dwell among the lodges of the Lenapé—she who has learnt all the wise words of the Black Father—she to become the wife of that wandering wolf! Can my sister’s heart beat towards him?” “Heaven knows how I loathe and dread him! worse than the most poisonous snake in the prairie.” “I thought so,” he replied. “And how ought a wife to feel towards the man whom she marries?” “To feel that he is the joy, the food, the treasure of her heart; the object of her secret thoughts by day, of her dreams by night; that when she prays to Heaven, his name is on her lips; that she loves him as—as—“ “As Prairie–bird loves Netis,” said Wingenund, smiling. The conscious girl blushed at the impassioned eagerness into which her feelings had betrayed her, but she did not attempt to deny her brother’s conclusion, and he continued more gravely: “Then my sister could not be the wife of the Osage, without leading a life of misery and falsehood. No, no,” he added, his bright eye kindled as he spoke; “let to–morrow come; Wingenund is ready; he will show that wolf how the Lenapé die. Let to–morrow come, and Mahéga shall learn that Wingenund despises his hate as much as Prairie–bird scorns his love. My sister, I have spoken it. The deeds of my fathers are before my eyes; the blood of the ancient people is in my veins; words cannot change my mind. Farewell! and when you see War–Eagle and Netis, tell them that the Washashe fire drew neither complaint nor cry from the lips of Wingenund.”