"How is it," said the former to his guest, when both were calmly seated
behind the little screen of stones, "that thou hast fallen upon this
secret place? The foot of stranger hath not often trod these rocks, and no
man before thee hath ever descended the precipice."
"A moccason is sure," returned the other with Indian brevity. "My father
hath a good eye. He can see very far from the door of his lodge."
"Thou knowest that the men of my color speak often to their Good Spirit,
and they do not love to ask his favor in the highways. This place is
sacred to his holy name."
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.
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