"Stay," said Oliver, noticing Running Water lying a few paces from him covered with wounds, "do not kill that man, he is an old acquaintance of mine." The hunter had placed Doña Diana in her father's arms. Don Aníbal, delighted at seeing his daughter saved, but rendered desperate by the death of his wife, whose agony had already begun, was striving, by all the means in his power, to recall her to life. "Good-bye," Doña Emilia murmured in a dying voice, as she gently pressed the hands of her daughter and her husband; "our daughter will console you for the loss of me. I die happy, because I died in saving her." And gently laying her head on her husband's shoulder, she gave back her soul, still trying to smile on those whom she was leaving for ever. It was after confiding Doña Diana to her father that Clary noticed Running Water. Count de Melgosa was lying by the side of the old sachem, with a lance thrust through his thigh. The hunters were preparing to remove the count to a more convenient spot, but the sachem, who had hitherto remained motionless, with his eyes closed as if he were already dead, gave a sudden start, and raised his head. "One moment," he said, rising on his elbow with a great effort, "let me say a couple of words to this man." The count ordered the hunters to withdraw. "Chief, I am grieved to see you in this state," the Canadian said compassionately, for he remembered the sachem's kind reception; "let me bind up your wounds, and then you can speak at your ease." "What good!" the chief answered bitterly; "I feel death approaching; its black wings are already spread out over my eyes; do not torment me." "Let him speak," the count interrupted, "perhaps what he has to say to me may be more important than we suspect." "Yes, yes," the chief continued with a groan, "much more than you believe." And with a supreme effort he placed his face close to the count's, exclaiming with an expression of deadly hatred-- "Do you recognize me?" "No," the count answered, after gazing fixedly at him. The features of the old chief, already nearly decomposed by the advent of death, assumed a sinister expression. "You do not recognize me," he said in a hollow voice, "and yet you are my enemy. My hand has fallen heavily upon you. You remember your brother's horrible death? Well, it was I who killed him. Oh! A portion of my vengeance has escaped me today, it is true, but my soul will not fly away alone to our happy hunting grounds. This woman, the Queen of the Savannah, and her daughter are dead. I have, therefore, gained my object." "You are mistaken, chief," honest Clary interrupted him, scandalized by the Indian's language at such a moment; "although the Queen of the Savannah, as you call Doña Emilia, is dead, I was so fortunate as to save her daughter." A convulsive quivering ran over the Indian's body; he gave the hunter an angry look, but almost immediately resumed, with a triumphant look--