And so it was in the house of Mr. Prevost. Each day had its something; each hour; and although the object was always the same, or rarely varied, yet the rapid changes of thought and feeling made the time fly far more rapidly than might have been expected.
During the winter, Lord H---- visited the house very frequently; and it is probable that, had no dark cloud overshadowed the hopes as well as the happiness of all, he would have pressed for the prize of Edith's hand without delay; but he loved not the mingling of joy and sorrow. In that, at least, his view of the world, and life, and fate, was deceitful. He was not yet convinced, although he had some experience, that such a thing as unalloyed happiness, even for a few short days, is not to be found on earth--that the only mine of gold without dross lies beneath the grave.
Once, indeed, he hinted, rather than asked, that an early day might be fixed for his union with her he loved; but a tear rose in Edith's eye, and she bent down her head. Her father would have made no objection, although he still thought her very, very young to take upon her the duties of a wife. In that respect his feelings were not changed; but the loss of his son weighed heavily upon him, and, calling him away from the present, had projected his thoughts into the future. What might be Edith's fate, he asked himself, if he too should be taken from her? Any of the many accidents of life might leave her alone, and an orphan; and there is nothing which brings home so sensibly to our thoughts the unstable hold which we have upon all earthly things, so much as our tenderness for those we love.
But Lord H---- saw that it would be painful to Edith herself to become his bride as long as Walter's late was uncertain; and he said no more.
In the meantime the gathering together of the British soldiers on the Hudson and the Mohawk had, like one wave meeting another, somewhat repelled the Indian tribes. A runner, a half-breed, or one or two red men together--more frequently from the nation of the Mohawks than from any other tribe--would be seen occasionally wandering through the woods or crossing the open ground near the settler's dwelling; but they seldom approached the house; and their appearance caused no apprehension. Relations of the greatest amity had been re-established between the British authorities and the chiefs of the Five Nations; and several of the tribes were preparing to take part in the coming strife upon the side of England.
Three times during the winter the house of Mr. Prevost was visited by a single Indian of the Oneida tribe. On two occasions it was a man who presented himself; and his stay was very short. On the first occasion, Edith was alone; when, without the sound of a footfall, he glided in like a dark shadow. His look was friendly, though for a moment he said nothing. Edith, well knowing Indian habits, asked if he would take food. He answered "Yes," in his own language; and she called some of the servants to supply him; but, before he ate he looked up in her face, saying--
"I am bidden to tell thee that thy brother shall be safe."
"Whose words do you bear?" asked Edith. "Is it the Black Eagle who speaks?"
"Nay, it is Otaitsa," replied the man.
This was all Edith could learn; for the messenger was either ignorant of more, or affected to be so; yet still it was a comfort to her. The next who came was a woman somewhat past the middle age, and by no means beautiful. She stayed long; and, with good-humoured volubility, related all that had happened immediately after Edith's visit to the Oneida castle. She dwelt upon the attempt of the Blossom to deliver her lover as she would have expatiated upon some feat of daring courage in a warrior; and though in the end she had to tell how the maiden's bold attempt had been frustrated, she concluded by saying--