"
Conanchet had fastened a look of deep and affectionate interest on the
wild and sweet countenance of the being who stood before him. She had
spoken in that attitude of earnest and natural eloquence that no art can
equal; and when she ceased, he laid a hand, in kind but melancholy
fondness, on the half-inclined and motionless head, as he answered.
"This is the bird of night, singing to its young! The Great Spirit of
thy fathers is angry, that thou livest in the lodge of a Narragansett.
His sight is too cunning to be cheated. He knows that the moccason, and
the wampum, and the robe of fur are liars; he sees the color of the
skin beneath."
"Conanchet, no;" returned the female hurriedly, and with a decision her
timidity did not give reason to expect. "He seeth farther than the skin,
and knoweth the color of the mind. He hath forgotten that one of his girls
is missing."
"It is not so. The eagle of my people was taken into the lodges of the
Pale-faces. He was young, and they taught him to sing with another tongue.
The colors of his feathers were changed, and they thought to cheat the
Manitou.
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