Was it the death-song of the captive girl bound to that fearful stake?
No; for she stands unmoved, with eyes raised heavenward, and lips apart-- "In still, but brave despair." Shrouded in a mantle of dark cloth, her long black hair unbound and streaming over her shoulders, appears the Mohawk widow, the daughter of the Ojebwa chief.

The gathering throng fall back as she approaches, awed by her sudden appearance among them.

She stretches out a hand on which dark stains are visible--it is the blood of her husband, sacrificed by her on that day of fearful deeds: it has never been effaced.

In the name of the Great Spirit she claims the captive girl--the last of that devoted tribe--to be delivered over to her will.

Her right to this remnant of her murdered husband's family is acknowledged.