"I do not know—stay, the old woman Tituba was muttering a death-chant. It must have been that."
"A death-chant in the Indian tongue—a chant of the Wampanoags?"
"A chant in the Indian tongue—but I cannot tell of what tribe."
"And you understand it?"
"Yes!"
"How—who taught you the meaning of our death-chants?"
Abigail was astonished. She had never thought of this before. How, indeed, had she learned the meaning of these words? Not from the minister, nor at school; nor, so far as she could remember, from the old Indian woman. How then had that strange language become so familiar to her ear and her tongue? This thought, so suddenly aroused, bewildered her. She had no answer to give.
The young savage grasped her hand in his, and she felt that his limbs quivered; slowly, very slowly, he drew her to the grave, and, pointing downward, said—
"It was of her you learned the tongue of the Wampanoags!"
"My mother," said Abigail, mournfully, "my poor mother, who lies here so still—how could she teach me a savage language? She, the sister of my uncle's wife?"