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.
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