"Had you advertised me of precisely what we saw, we might have been a little better prepared," said Ralph: "but that adventure would make an excellent theme for a ballad, in the German style. It possessed sufficient of the mysterious and terrible for that purpose, certainly."
"You have visited us, Captain Weston," said Ruth, with seriousness, "in an unfortunate time for yourself. I hear that we are threatened with an attack from Indians."
"Do not say unfortunate. Miss Barton: rather, I deem myself most fortunate, in happening to be here at this time, should the attack which is threatened be made."
"I hope it may not be. O! it is horrible to think that this home I love so much should be the scene of such a conflict."
"I think that in no event can our safely be endangered," replied Ralph; "and that we have nothing to fear from the attack, should it be made. We have abundant means of defence, and the enemy is not strong enough, with the stout hearts we shall have within these walls, to force the cottage. But I can sympathize with your sorrow, Miss Barton. God has made this country too beautiful to be marred by the strife of men."
"It is a terrible blot on human nature," said Ruth, "that men dwelling so far from society, in the midst of the forest, where every object should excite sacred emotions, can engage in these unholy conflicts with each other. It is a proof—a strong proof, of the wretched condition of poor human nature, unassisted by the light that shines from above."
"Such is the nature of men," replied Ralph, "and surely perhaps, it will always be. The first men were warriors, and if ignorance and brutality always exist, the last men will be warriors, also. The whole history of the world has been written with the sword—places most sacred have been profaned by the bloody stains of human passion, and themes the most holy have given rise to the deadliest hatred and contention. We cannot expect that men educated in the ways of the forest, shall be wiser than those who boast of their civilization."
"But is there no way," asked Ruth, "in which this conflict can be avoided?"
"None, perhaps, that would be honorable." Ralph then gave an account of the wrongs which the Tuscarora had received from the Senecas, together with the capture of his squaw. Ruth acknowledged the impossibility of complying with the demands of the Senecas. Her heart at once sympathised with the wrongs of the Tuscarora; and the picture which her imagination drew of Singing-Bird in captivity in the hands of those unrelenting and unmerciful enemies, brought tears to her eyes.
"No, no," said she; "the Tuscarora has been our friend, and we cannot deliver him to his enemies. In such a cause, I could be a soldier myself."