Catharine turned her heavy eyes on that beautiful face. How strange it looked! The costly raiment which had displaced her savage costume seemed unnatural alike to mother and child.
“And you are truly happy, my child? say it again.”
“Very happy!” answered the maiden, smiling.
“And you love this man very—very much?”
“Oh, so much, dear mother!”
“I am glad of this my child. I have no hope for you except in this love.”
“No hope save in this love! Then your whole life may be full of hope. Without this love, Tahmeroo would die; for it fills all the world to her. Oh, mother, I did not know how beautiful the earth was till he came; the water down which his canoe passes grows pure as I look; if his hand touches a flower, it brightens to a star under my eye; the winter-berries turn to gold as he gathers them for me; I could kneel down and kiss the moss which his foot has walked over; the sound of his moccasins, away off in the forest, makes my heart leap for joy. Is not this love, mother?”
Catharine sobbed aloud; every sweet word that fell from her child brought its memory to stab her.
“Speak to me, mother; are you offended that I love him so much?”
Catharine writhed in her chair; it seemed as if she must die. Had she fled to the wilderness only to crucify her heart over again in the person of her child? Were the consequences of one error to follow her forever and ever? She lifted her clasped hands to heaven, and wildly asked these questions as if the lurid stars could answer her from the blackness that covered them. “Are you sorry that I love him so?” said Tahmeroo, weeping softly.