“Did she make you a great medicine-woman?”
Hope rose to her feet with dignity, her brow contracted, and her eyes gleaming with unearthly radiance. She pointed upward and said:
“The Great Spirit alone knows the morrow as to-day. He reveals himself to me. Acashee, listen! I behold you pierced, through and through with arrows; I see you bleed at every pore.”
The proud woman was awed at her tone, and felt that Hope had the mastery.
“Who shoots the arrows?” she at length asked.
“John Bonyton, and the warriors.”
The woman’s head fell upon her breast, but a smile, fair as the smiles of the daughter of Samoset in her days of youth and beauty, stole to her lips as she whispered:
“It contents me so to die.”