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.