Then every voice within the council chamber was simultaneously raised in loud protestations, and had Elias Rody seen the flashing eyes and angry gestures, or heard the fierce invective hurled back to his proposal, he would have hesitated to renew it. Amidst the wild tumult Oluski sate, with head bowed upon his breast, a feeling of sorrow in his heart. The angry debate that succeeded did not last long; it was but the ebullition of a common sentiment, to which the expression by one voice was alone wanting. It found it in the same youthful warrior who had spoken before. The feelings of the warriors being known, he, as well as any other, good give them voice. "The chosen of the tribe have decided," said he, amidst perfect silence; "I will proclaim their answer." "Do so," Oluski said, simply raising his head. "They despise the white chief's bribe, offered for the bones of our ancestors. They bid me ask Oluski what answer he intends making to the pale-face." The old chief rose hastily to his feet, his form and eyes dilated. Glancing proudly around the assembly, he cried out, in a clear ringing voice. "Oluski's answer is written here." As he said this, he struck his spread palm upon his breast. "When the white chief would have it, it shall be No!" A cry of approbation from every warrior present greeted this patriotic speech. Hastening forward, they pressed around their chief with ejaculations of joy. The aged patriarch felt his blood freshly warmed within his veins--he was young again! In a few moments the excitement subsided, and the warriors, returning from the council-house, moved off towards their respective dwellings. Oluski was the last to emerge from the council chamber. As he stepped across the threshold, the fire that animated him seemed to have become suddenly extinguished. His form was bent, his steps tottering and listless. As he looked down the hill, he caught a glimpse of the white settlement, with its window-lights twinkling through the darkness. One, more brilliant than the rest, attracted his attention. It was the house of Elias Rody. "I fear," said the old chief, in a dreary voice, "my gift will prove fatal alike to him and me. When ambition enters the heart, honour and justice find no home therein. Our people cannot know that man in the past; they must judge him by his present. I would be generous--the Great Spirit knows that--but I must also be just. If I have raised angry feelings at this council, I have nothing to charge myself with; I did but my duty. May the white chief's heart be turned from the covetous thoughts which fill it! Great Spirit, hear my prayer!" With a natural and beautiful action, the aged Indian raised his hands in supplication to that Power alike cognisant of the thoughts of white and red. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE SITUATION. Several days had elapsed since the meeting in the council-house.