"I listen."
"Surely as the Great Spirit looks down upon us through his stars, the woman who sleeps beneath these dark leaves commands you to listen when I speak, and believe what I shall say!"
"But you are an enemy—a savage from the woods; what could you know of my mother?"
"Every thing; it is she who charges you to believe this."
"But if she had a knowledge of you or your people, why did my uncle never mention it?"
"Why did he never mention it?" rejoined the Indian—and now the tenderness left his eyes, and the words came hissing through his shut teeth—"because he was the enemy of your race. Father and mother alike, suffered at his hands."
"What, my uncle, my good, pious uncle, the father of Elizabeth! I do not believe it!" cried Abigail indignantly, "he was never the enemy of any human being."
"Silence!" whispered the savage, "your words trouble the ashes in that grave!"
That instant a gust of wind came sobbing through the pine leaves, and the dusky creepers on the two graves shivered audibly.
Abigail drew close to the savage, and laid her hand on his arm. They bent their heads, and listened till the wind swept by.