"You have heard of me from Eagle's-Wing, perhaps, as an old friend? He and I have known each other as tried friends, in times gone by."
"I have heard of a pale-face," replied Singing-Bird, in a low, silvery voice, "who, on the war-path, saved the life of Eagle's-Wing, when he was in the hands of his enemies. I have heard it from Eagle's-Wing."
"That's a circumstance not worth mentioning; but Eagle's-Wing and I are friends. He knows he can always rely on me, in any sort of a speculation. But I'm in rather a bad fix here; yet we can always find some way of doing our duty by a friend, if we try. But Eagle's-Wing is free, and isn't far from here—you may depend on that."
Perhaps the slightest trace of an expression of joy passed over her countenance for a moment; but it was instantly subdued. With her eyes fixed upon the ground, she slowly said—
"I loved once to look upon Canendesha—but he has passed from my eyes."
"What!" exclaimed Ichabod with a start that fairly made the withes snap that were fastened upon his limbs.
A momentary look of agony clouded the face of Singing-Bird. She seemed endeavoring to speak, yet had not the power to command her organs of speech.
"Shall I tell Eagle's-Wing this?" exclaimed Ichabod, with indignation. "Shall I tell him to go back to the villages of his nation, and forget his squaw? Or shall I tell him to come and deliver himself up to his enemies?"
With an effort that seemed almost to destroy her, but which was lost upon Ichabod, as he had given himself up to the mastery of his indignation—she softly answered—
"I have said. Let the pale-face speak my words to his friend."