This aged priest had brought to the valley of Pomperaug the remnant of a family of many souls. It was a maiden--the daughter of his only son who, with his wife, had slept many years in the house of death. Her name was Mary, and well might she be the object of all the earthly affections which still beat in the bosom of one whom death had made acquainted with sorrow, and who but for her had been alone.
Mary had now seen the harvest gathered in seventeen times. She was the most beautiful of all the maidens of the land. She was tall and slender, with a dark expressive eye, whose slow movements seemed full of soul and sincerity. Her hair was of a glossy black, parted upon a forehead of dazzling whiteness, and shading a cheek which vied in its blush with the pale rose of the wilds. And snow was not whiter than her stately neck, and rounded arm, and little hand.
They had been settled in the valley of Pomperaug but a few moons, when an application from the aged priest to purchase a portion of the young chief's lands brought him to the cabin of the former. It was a bright morning in autumn, and, while he was talking with the priest at the door, the lovely maiden, who had been gathering flowers, the late flowers of the season, in the adjacent woods, passed by them, and entered the hut. The eye of the young chief followed her with the gaze of entrancement. His face shone as if he had seen a vision of more than earthly beauty, some bright spirit of the air. But this emotion was visible only for a moment. With the habitual self-command of those who are trained in the wilds, he turned again to the aged priest, and calmly pursued the subject which occasioned their meeting.
Pomperaug went away, but he carried the image of the beautiful maiden with him. He retired to his wigwam, but it did not please him--a vacant and dissatisfied feeling filled his bosom. He went to the top of the high rock, at the foot of which his hut was situated, and, seating himself upon the broad flat stone, cast his eyes over the river, upon which the beams of the morning were just beginning to cast their quivering light. The scene, once so pleasing, afforded him no joy. He turned away, and sent his long gaze over the checkered leaves of the forest, which spread like a sea over the beautiful valley. He was still dissatisfied. With a bound he sprang from the rock into the valley, and, alighting on his feet, snatched his bow, and took the path which led into the forest. In a few moments he returned listless and vacant, and, seating himself upon the rock, brooded for many hours in silence.