There was no sign of woman's fear in her fixed dark eye, which quailed not before the sight of the death-dooming men who stood round her, armed with their terrible weapons of destruction.
Her thoughts seemed far away: perhaps they were with her dead kindred, wandering in that happy land to which the Indian hopes to go after life; or, inspired with the new hope which had been opened to her, she was looking to Him who has promised a crown of life to such as believe in His name.

She saw not the look of agony with which Catharine regarded her; and the poor girl, full of grief, sunk down at the foot of a neighbouring tree, and burying her face between her knees, wept and prayed--oh! how fervently! A hope crept to her heart--even while the doom of Indiana seemed darkest--that some good might yet accrue from her visit to the wigwam of the Great Medicine squaw.

She knew that the Indians have great belief in omens, and warnings, and spirits, both good and evil; she knew that her mysterious appearance in the tent of the Mohawk's widow would be construed by her into spiritual agency; and her heart was strengthened by this hope.

Yet just now there seems little reason to encourage hope: the war-whoop is given, the war-dance is begun--first slow, and grave, and measured; now louder, and quicker, and more wild become both sound and movement.

But why is it hushed again?
See, a strange canoe appears on the river; anon an old weather-beaten man, with firm step, appears on the greensward and approaches the area of the lodge.
The Bald Eagle greets him with friendly courtesy; the dance and death-song are hushed; a treaty is begun.