Her friends?
the smile of scorn is on their lips.

Her lover?
he has left the feast.
Her determination is soon made; her form is seen as she flies to the woods.

Death is the refuge of the friendless and the wronged.
But as night came on the relatives of Wenona wondered that she did not return.

They sought her, and they found her lifeless body; the knife was deep in her heart.

She knew she was innocent, but what did that avail her?
She was accused by a warrior, and who would believe her if she denied the charge?
And why condemn her that she deprived herself of life, which she deemed worthless, when embittered by unmerited contempt.