She hath been in the
lodges of her father, and hath tasted of their plenty. Is her heart glad?"
The young wife paused. The question brought with it a sudden recollection
of all those reviving sensations, of that tender solicitude, and of those
soothing sympathies, of which she had so lately been the subject. But
these feelings soon vanished; for, without daring to lift her eyes to meet
the attentive and anxious gaze of the chief, she said firmly, though with
a voice that was subdued by diffidence--
"Narra-mattah is a wife."
"Then will she listen to the words of her husband. Conanchet is a
chief no longer. He is a prisoner of the Mohicans. Uncas waits for him
in the woods!"
Notwithstanding the recent declaration of the young wife, she heard of
this calamity with little of the calmness of an Indian woman. At first, it
seemed as if her senses refused to comprehend the meaning of the words.
Wonder, doubt, horror, and fearful certainty, each in its turn prevailed;
for she was too well schooled in all the usages and opinions of the people
with whom she dwelt, not to understand the jeopardy in which her husband
was placed.
Pages:
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700