Thy blood is like spring-water. All this thou
knowest, for none have spoken false in thy ear. Speak--dost thou never see
the wigwam of thy father? Does not his voice whisper to thee, in the
language of his people?"
The female stood in the attitude which a sibyl might be supposed to
assume, while listening to the occult mandates of the mysterious oracle,
every faculty entranced and attentive.
"Why does Conanchet ask these questions of his wife? He knows what she
knows; he sees what she sees; his mind is her mind. If the Great Spirit
made her skin of a different color, he made her heart the same.
Narra-mattah will not listen to the lying language; she shuts her ears,
for there is deceit in its sounds. She tries to forget it. One tongue can
say all she wishes to speak to Conanchet; why should she look back in
dreams, when a great chief is her husband?"
The eye of the warrior, as he looked upon the ingenuous and confiding face
of the speaker, was kind to fondness. The firmness had passed away and in
its place was left the winning softness of affection, which, as it belongs
to nature, is seen, at times, in the expression of an Indian's eye, as
strongly as it is ever known to sweeten the intercourse of a more polished
condition of life.
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