The squaw, though she evidently comprehended the meaning of her imploring
gestures, shook her head, and in plaintive earnest tone replied in her own
language, that she must go with the canoes to the other shore,--and she
pointed to the north as she spoke. She then motioned to the young girl--the
same that had been Catharine's companion in the canoe--to bring a hunting
knife, which was thrust into one of the folds of the birch-bark of the
wigwam. Catharine beheld the deadly weapon in the hands of the Indian woman
with a pang of agony as great as if its sharp edge was already at her
throat. So young--so young, to die by a cruel bloody death! what had been
her crime?--how should she find words to soften the heart of her murderess?
The power of utterance seemed denied--she cast herself on her knees and
held up her hands in silent prayer; not to the dreaded Indian woman, but to
Him who heareth the prayer of the poor destitute--who alone can order the
unruly wills and affections of men.
The squaw stretched forth one dark hand and grasped the arm of the
terror-struck girl, while the other held the weapon of destruction; with a
quick movement she severed the thongs that bound the fettered wrists of the
pleading captive, and with a smile that seemed to light up her whole face
she raised her from her prostrate position, laid her hand upon her young
head, and with an expression of good-humoured surprise lifted the flowing
tresses of her sunny hair and spread them over the back of her own swarthy
hand; then, as if amused by the striking contrast, she shook down her own
jetty-black hair and twined a tress of it with one of the fair haired
girl's--then laughed till her teeth shone like pearls within her red lips.
Pages:
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302