"Probably it was her father's portrait that I saw at the Indian castle," said Edith. "There was hanging up in Otaitsa's room a picture that struck me more than any of the others, except, indeed, the portrait of a lady. It was that of a man in a military dress of antique cut. His hand was stretched out with his drawn sword in it, and he was looking round with a commanding air, as if telling his soldiers to follow. I marked it particularly at first, because the sun was shining on it, and because the frame was covered with the most beautiful Indian beadwork I ever saw. That of the lady too was similarly ornamented; but there was another which interested me much--a small pencil drawing of a young man's head, so like Walter, that, at first, I almost fancied dear Otaitsa had been trying to take his portrait from memory."
"Would you remember the old man's face, my child, if you saw it again?" asked Mr. Prevost, gazing earnestly at his daughter.
"I think so," answered Edith, a little confused by her father's eagerness. "I am quite sure I should."
"Wait then a moment," said Mr. Prevost, "and call for lights, my child."
As he spoke, he rose and quitted the room; but he was several minutes gone, and lights were burning in the chamber when he returned. He was burdened with several pictures of small size, which he spread out upon the table, while Edith and Woodchuck both rose to gaze at them.
"There, there!" cried Edith, putting her finger upon one, "there is the head of the old officer, though the attitude is different, and there is the lady too; but I do not see the portrait of the young man."
"Edith," said her father, laying his hand affectionately upon hers, and shaking his head, sadly, "he is no longer young, but he stands beside you, my child. That is the picture of my father, that of my mother. Otaitsa must be your cousin. Poor Jessie! we have always thought her dead, although her body was not found with that of her father. Better had she been dead, probably."
"No, no, Prevost," said Woodchuck, "not a bit of it. Black Eagle made her as kind a husband as ever was seen. You might have looked all Europe and America through, and not found so good a one. Then think of all she did, too, in the place where she was. God sent her there to make better people than she found. From the time she went, to the time she died, poor thing! there was no more war and bloodshed, or very little of it. Then she got a Christian minister amongst them--at least, he never would have been suffered to set his foot there if she had not been Black Eagle's wife. It is a hard thing to tell what is really good, and what is really evil, in this world. For my part, I think, if everything is not exactly good, which few of us would like to say it is, yet good comes out of it like a flower growing out of a dunghill; and there's no telling what good to the end of time this lady's going there may produce. Bad enough it was for her, I dare say, at first, but she got reconciled to it; so you mustn't say, it would have been better if she had died."
"It is strange, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, "what turns human fate will take! That she--brought up in the midst of luxury, educated with the utmost refinement, sought and admired by all who knew her--should reject two of the most distinguished men in Europe, to go to this wild land, and marry an Indian savage! Men talk of Fate and Destiny; and there are certainly strange turns of fortune so beyond all human calculation and regulation, that one would almost believe that the doctrine of the Fatalists is true."
"Do you not think, my dear father," said Edith, waking up from a profound reverie, "that this strange discovery might be turned to some great advantage? that Walter, perhaps, might be saved without the necessity of our poor friend here sacrificing his own life to deliver him?"