“I will live, but only to work your destruction! No, no, no, John Bonyton,” and she covered her face with her hands, to hide her relenting tears.
The sagamore was softened, and laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“Tell me what became of Hope Vines, Acashee, and I will forget all the past.”
“She was called away by the Great Spirit.” And her look and tone softened.
“Acashee, I know your falsehood and your thousand wiles. You do not speak truth. Tell me, I beseech you, where you have put her, for I feel in my very soul that she lives. She comes to me in my dreams, she walks by my side in the forest-path—there is no spot to me where Hope is not.”
“Hear me, John Bonyton: if I knew, I would not tell. Hear me! She is dead—dead, a thousand times dead to you, and I rejoice to know it! The daughters of the morning star have taken her to their arms; why then should you scorn Acashee?”
Her dark eyes were fixed tenderly upon his face as she spoke, while her rich, clear voice wooed the echoes to melody. She had laid her wrist upon his arm in her old seductive way, but the sagamore shook her off, and turned his eyes from her face, as he replied:
“Go, then, Acashee, go. I had hoped there might be some touch of goodness in that cruel heart. Go.”
“Touch of goodness! proud sagamore! Is it nothing to spurn my kind only for such as you? Nothing to live one long thought of you?”
While she spoke, a wood-pigeon alighted upon a branch near by, and with singular dexterity she caught it, and held it fondly to her bosom, smoothing and caressing its ruffled plumage.