The white squaw shall be restored to her brother's lodge--but thou remainest.

I have spoken." Catharine in tears cast her arms around her disinterested friend and remained weeping--how could she accept this great sacrifice?
She in her turn pleaded for the life and liberty of the Mohawk, but the chief turned a cold ear to her passionate and incoherent pleading.

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.