“Keep silent, Joe, or else leave us,” again interposed Glenn. “I’ll go catch my fish. I had just found a frog, and was in the act of catching it, when I saw the sq—the—_her_—and I thought then that I would just run home and let you know she was coming before I took it. But I remember where it was, and I’ll have it now in less than no time.” Saying this, Joe set off up the valley again, though not very well pleased with himself for betraying so much alarm when there was so little danger. “La-u-na, I am no Indian,” said William, at length, in the language of her tribe, and much affected by her searching stare. “But you were once the young chief that led our warriors to battle, and caught La-u-na’s heart. I heard you were a pale-face after you were taken away from us; and I thought if you would not fly back to La-u-na, like the pigeon that escapes from the talons of the eagle and returns to its mate, then I would lose you—forget you—hate you. I tried, but I could not do it. When the white moon ran up to the top of the sky, and shone down through the tall trees in my face, I would ever meet you in the land of dreams, with the bright smile you used to have when you were wont to put your arm around me and draw me so gently to your breast. I was happy in those dreams. But they would not stay. The night-hawk flew low and touched my eyes with his wings as he flapped by, and I awoke. Then my breast was cold and my cheeks were wet. The katydids gathered in the sweet rose-bushes about me and sung mournfully. La-u-na was unhappy. La-u-na must see her Young Eagle, or go to the land of spirits. She called her wild steed to her side, and, plucking these flowers to test his fleetness, sprang upon him and flew hither. He is now grazing in the prairie at the head of the valley; and here are the blossoms, still alive, fresh and sweet.” The trembling and tearful girl then gently and sadly strewed the flowers over the grass at her feet. “Sweet La-u-na!” cried William, snatching up the blossoms and pressing them to his lips, “forgive the young chief; he will still love you and never leave you again.” “No—no—no!” said the girl, shaking her head in despair; “the pale face youth will not creep through the silent and shady forest with La-u-na any more. He will gather no more ripe grapes for the Trembling Fawn. He will not bathe again in the clear waters with La-u-na. He will give her no more rings of roses to put on her breast. The Trembling Fawn is wounded. She must find a cool shade and lie down. The dove will perch over her and wail. She will sing a low song. She will close her eyes and die.” Oh, no! cried William, placing his arms around her tenderly. “Oh, no!” cried William, placing his arms around her tenderly; “La-u-na must not die; or, if she does, she shall not die alone. Why will not La-u-na dwell with me, among my friends?” The girl started, and exhibited signs of mingled delight and doubt.