CHAPTER XIV.
THE CRYSTAL STONE.
Years, as we have said, had passed away since the disappearance of Hope Vines, and her memory was lost to all but the Sagamore of Saco, in whose breast it burned a perpetual and yearning reminiscence, branded into the very fiber of his life and being.
A council of the Sacos had been called among the upper waters of the river, for the tribe had determined upon a grand expedition against the Terrentines and Androscoggins.
The moon was at full, and the sky balmy with the aromas of wood and water, for the brief Indian summer had renewed the youth and revived the beauty of the waning season. The young braves had brought to the council a captive, taken in a recent attack upon a Terrentine village, and she now was before them bound to a tree, the light of the moon conflicting with the ruddy light of the torch-flame of the council-fire, playing in weird contrast over her dark, motionless features.
As chief after chief arose and gave, in a clear, solemn voice, his views regarding the campaign, it was observed that the sagamore cast stern and frequent glances upon the captive. At length he seized a torch and flashed it full upon her face. The eyes of the two met, but not a word passed the lips of either. Returning to the council, the sagamore asked:
“Has the captive heard our proceedings?”
“No; the wind bears the sound away. The sapling to which she is bound is beyond earshot.”
“It is Acashee, the daughter of Samoset.”
The younger chiefs sprung to their feet, and would have buried their tomahawks in her brain, for they knew of the story of Hope Vines, and the grief of the sagamore.