There was silence for some minutes, and then the old man rose and said:--
“Daughter of a brave woman, thou hast spoken long, and thou hast spoken well; the ears of the Bald Eagle have been open. The white squaw shall be restored to her brother’s lodge--but thou remainest. I have spoken.”
Catharine in tears cast her arms around her disinterested friend and remained weeping--how could she accept this great sacrifice? She in her turn pleaded for the life and liberty of the Mohawk, but the chief turned a cold ear to her passionate and incoherent pleading. He was weary--he was impatient of further excitement--he coldly motioned to them to withdraw; and the friends in sadness retired to talk over all that had taken place since that sad day when Catharine was taken from her home. While her heart was joyful at the prospect of her own release, it was clouded with fears for the uncertain fate of her beloved friend.
“They will condemn me to a cruel death,” said Indiana, “but I can suffer and die for my white sister.”
That night the Indian girl slept sweetly and tranquilly beside Catharine; but Catharine could not sleep; she communed with her own heart in the still watches of the night--it seemed as if a new life had been infused within her. She no longer thought and felt as a child; the energies of her mind had been awakened, ripened into maturity as it were, and suddenly expanded. When all the inmates of the lodges were profoundly sleeping, Catharine arose,--a sudden thought had entered into her mind, and she hesitated not to put her design into execution. There was no moon, but a bright arch of light spanned the forest to the north; it was mild and soft as moonlight, but less bright, and cast no shadow across her path; it showed her the sacred tent of the widow of the murdered Mohawk. With noiseless step she lifted aside the curtain of skins that guarded it, and stood at the entrance. Light as was her step, it awakened the sleeper; she raised herself on her arm and looked up with a dreamy and abstracted air as Catharine, stretching forth her hand in tones low and tremulous, thus addressed her in the Ojebwa tongue:--
“The Great Spirit sends me to thee, O woman of much sorrow; he asks of thee a great deed of mercy and goodness. Thou hast shed blood, and he is angry. He bids thee to save the life of an enemy--the blood of thy murdered husband flows in her veins. See that thou disobey not the words that he commands.”