Slowly walking on between her two negro companions, for she was tired with a longer walk than usual, Edith approached the open gates of the Castle and met with no opposition in entering. A tall, handsome warrior passed out, fully clothed in Indian costume, and only marked out from any civilized man by the shaved head and the painfully significant scalp-lock. His step was stately and calm, and his air grave and reserved. Twice he turned his eyes upon Edith's face, with a look of evident wonder and admiration, but he took no farther notice, and passed on. He was the only man whom she saw on entering the village, till after passing through many huts, where women and children were to be seen busily employed, she came in sight of the door of the chief's house, and beheld there a figure seated on the ground, quietly engaged in the art of embroidery, after the fashion in which the Indian women so greatly excel.
It was a figure which she knew well; and the tranquil air and easy grace, as well as the quiet, peaceful employment, showed Edith at once that she had not been mistaken in supposing that Otaitsa was altogether ignorant of the peril of one dear to them both. As she came near, she heard the Indian girl, in her happy ignorance, singing a sweet but somewhat plaintive song; and the next moment, Otaitsa, raising her eyes, beheld the three figures, and at once perceived that they were not of her people.
For an instant she did not recognize Edith in her Indian garb; but when she did recognize her, the emotion produced was alarm rather than joy. She felt at once that some great and important event--some occurrence full of peril or of sorrow--must have brought Edith thither. The beautiful lips parted with a tremulous motion; the large dark eye, Indian in its color, but European in its form, became full of anxiety; the rosy color of her cheek, which probably had obtained for her the name of the Blossom, faded away, and paleness spread over the clear brown skin. Starting up, however, she cast the embroidery away from her, and springing forward, threw her arms around Edith's neck. Then, as her hand rested on her fair companion's shoulder, she asked in a whisper: "What is it, my sister? There must be a storm in the sky--there must be lightning in the cloud! What tempest wind has swept my sister hither? What flood of sorrow has borne Edith to Otaitsa?"
"Hush!" said Edith, in a low tone, for there were some other Indian women near. "I will tell my sister when no ears can hear but her own. There is tempest in the sky. A pine tree has fallen across the threshold of my father's house, and we are sad for fear the hatchet of the woodman should lop all its green branches away. Can I speak with the Blossom speedily, and in secret?"
"Instantly," answered Otaitsa. "The warriors have all gone forth to hunt for three days the bear and the moose. The Black Eagle is with them. There are but three men of deeds in the Castle, now, and why they are women now and go not forth to the hunting with the rest, I cannot tell. But they are little within the palisade--daily they go forth, and remain absent long. Come in hither, my sister, for though few here speak the tongue we speak, it were better not to let the wind hear us."
"Can some of the women give food and lodging to these two negroes?" asked Edith, adding: "They have been well warned, and know that a life depends upon their silence."
Otaitsa called to an elderly Indian woman who was cooking at the door of a cabin near, and placed Chaudo and his companion under her charge. She then turned to Edith, saying: "Come, my sister;" but before they entered the building, Edith inquired if Mr. Gore was there, saying: "Perhaps he might give us counsel."
"My father sent him away some days ago," answered Otaitsa. "He will not be back for a month, perhaps longer. I think he has sent him to secure him from danger."
"Alas," said Edith, "that the danger should have fallen upon others!"
"Alas! alas!" said Otaitsa, and Edith felt her hand tremble much as she led her into the building.