"Then will I die!" exclaimed Otaitsa.
And gliding past him, she sought her way through the huts.
The first door she stopped at was partly covered with strange paintings, in red and blue colours, representing, in rather grotesque forms, men, and animals, and flowers. She entered, at once, without hesitation; and found, seated in the dim twilight before a large fire, the old priest who had spoken last at the council of the chiefs in the glen. His ornaments bespoke a chief of high degree; and several deep scars in his long, meagre limbs showed that he had been known in the battle-field. He did not even look round when the Blossom entered, but still sat gazing at the flickering flame, without the movement of a limb or feature. Otaitsa seated herself before him, and gazed at his face in silence, waiting for him to speak.
At the end of not less than five minutes, he turned his head a little, looked at her, and asked--
"What would the Blossom with the Old Cedar-tree?"
"I would take counsel with wisdom," replied the girl. "I would hear the voice of the warrior who is just, and the great chief who is merciful. Let him whom my mother reverenced most after her husband amongst the children of the Stone, speak words of comfort to Otaitsa."
She then, in language which, in rich imagery, and even in peculiarities of style, had a striking resemblance to the Hebrew writings, poured forth to him all the circumstances of Walter's capture, and of their love and plighted faith; and, with the same arguments which we have seen already used, she tried to convince him of the wrong and injustice done to her lover.
The old man listened with the usual appearance of apathy; but the beautiful girl before him gathered that he was much moved at heart, by the gradual bending down of his head till his forehead nearly touched his knees.
When she ceased, he remained silent for several moments, according to their custom; and then raised his head, saying,--
"How can the Old Cedar help thee? His boughs are withered, and the snows of more than seventy winters have bent them down. His roots are shaken in the ground, and the first blast of the tempest will lay him low. But the law of the Oneidas is in his heart: he cannot change it or pervert it. By thine own saying, it is clear that the Good Spirit will do nothing to save this youth. The young warrior is the first they lay hands on. No means have been found for his escape. No pale-face has come into the Oneida land, who might be made to take his place. All thine efforts to rescue him have been seeds that bore no fruit. If the Good Spirit wished to save him, he would provide a means. I have no counsel; and my heart is dead, for I loved thy mother as a child. She was to me as the evening star coming from afar to shine upon the night of my days; but I have no way to help her child, no words to give her comfort. Has not the Black Eagle a sister who loved thy mother well, who has seen well-nigh as many winters as I have, and who has a charm from the Great Spirit? Her lodge is even now filled with wise women of the tribe, taking counsel together as to this matter of the young chief. All love him well, except the dark and evil Honontkoh: all would save him, whether men or women of the nation, were not the law of the Oneida against him. Go to her lodge, then, and with her take counsel; for the Cedar-tree is without words."