“Is the Lily of Mooshanne well?” inquired the youth, fixing his dark and earnest eyes full upon the countenance of the person whom he was addressing. Ethelston had been prepared by his friend’s description of Wingenund for a demeanour and character highly interesting; but there was a melody, a pathos, a slight tremor in the tone in which he spoke those few words, there was also in his countenance a touching expression of melancholy, that thrilled to the heart of Ethelston. How quick is the jealous eye of love! Ethelston knew that Wingenund had passed only one day in the society of Lucy, yet he saw in an instant the deep impression which that day had left on the young Indian’s mind. “The Lily of Mooshanne is well,” he replied. “If she had known that I should visit her brother, and his Lenapé friends, she would have bid me speak many kind words to them from her.” Wingenund passed on, and War–Eagle related to the two friends the leading circumstances of his own expedition, omitting all mention of the fatigue, the hunger, the sleepless nights that he had undergone, before he discovered and reached the Osage camp. As he described the scene of Wingenund being tied to the post, with the dried faggots at his feet, and the appearance of Prairie–bird when Mahéga called upon her to pronounce her own or her brother’s fate, both of his auditors held their breath with anxious suspense, which gave place to astonishment, as he proceeded to relate with undisguised awe the mystery of the solar eclipse, which led to the liberation of Wingenund. When he had concluded his narrative, Reginald was speechless; and Ethelston, catching the Delaware’s arm, inquired in a low whisper, “Has the Osage dared, or will he dare, to make Prairie–bird his wife by force?” “He has not,” replied the chief; “the words of Olitipa, and the black sun, made him afraid.” He added, drawing himself proudly to his full height, “Had the wolf threatened to touch her with his paw, the tomahawk of War–Eagle would have pierced his heart, or the bones of the Lenapé chief and his brother would have been picked by the buzzards of the mountains.” So saying, War–Eagle joined his expectant warriors. In the meantime Mahéga returned to his camp, in a vexed and gloomy state of mind; as he passed the tent of Prairie–bird, a darker frown lowered upon his brow; and having entered his lodge, he seated himself, without speaking to any of those who had assembled there in expectation of his return.