The intruder was the young Sachem of the Narragansetts, and he who, notwithstanding this plausible apology, so palpably sought secrecy rather than solitude was the man that has often been introduced into these pages under the shade of mystery. The instant recognition and the mutual confidence require no further explanation, since enough has already been developed in the course of the narrative, to show that they were no strangers to each other. Still the meeting had not taken place without uneasiness on the one part, and great though admirably veiled surprise on the other. As became his high station and lofty character, the bearing of Conanchet betrayed none of the littleness of a vulgar curiosity. He met his ancient acquaintance with the calm dignity of his rank, and it would have been difficult for the most inquiring eye to have detected a wandering glance, a single prying look, or any other sign that he deemed the place at all extraordinary for such an interview. He listened to the little explanation of the other, with grave courtesy, and suffered a short time to elapse before he made any reply. "The Manitou of the pale-men," he then said "should be pleased with my father. His words are often in the ears of the Great Spirit! The trees and the rocks know them." "Like all of a sinful and fallen race," returned the stranger with the severe air of the age, "I have much need of my askings. But why dost thou think that my voice is so often heard in this secret place?" The finger of Conanchet pointed to the worn rock at his feet, and his eye glanced furtively at the beaten path which led between the spot and the door of the lodge. "A Yengeese hath a hard heel, but it is softer than stone. The hoof of the deer would pass many times, to leave such a trail." "Thou art quick of eye, Narragansett, and yet thy judgment may be deceived. My tongue is not the only one that speaketh to the God of my people." The Sachem bent his head slightly, in acquiescence, as if unwilling to press the subject. But his companion was not so easily satisfied, for he felt the consciousness of a fruitless attempt at deception goading him to some plausible means of quieting the suspicions of the Indian. "That I am now alone, may be matter of pleasure or of accident," he added; "thou knowest that this hath been a busy and a bloody day among the pale-men, and there are dead and dying in their lodges. One who hath no wigwam of his own may have found time to worship by himself." "The mind is very cunning," returned Conanchet; "it can hear when the ear is deaf--it can see when the eye is shut. My father hath spoken to the Good Spirit, with the rest of his tribe."