It was not merely astonishment—it was shame, uncontrollable disgust, towards the fair being who stood before him, that, for a moment, kept Ichabod silent. When at last he found words to communicate his thoughts, he exclaimed—
"I wouldn't have believed it, if all the Senecas this side of the infarnal regions had told me! Such a beauty! Such a heart. I'll abandon the settlements: I'll thank God, night and day, that I've no wife! Poor Eagle's-Wing! Go and die. No; I know the heart of Eagle's-Wing. He won't die for a squaw. He'll wince a little, at first: but he'll have the scalps off the heads of the whole tribe of Senecas." Then, as if concentrating all his indignation into one breath, he glanced at Singing-Bird with a look of abhorrence, and exclaimed—"Go, you painted lie!" and threw himself over on his bed, so as to avert his gaze from her.
Meanwhile, Singing-Bird stood with her eyes riveted upon the ground, and her countenance as calm and impassable as chiseled stone. A look of agony had impressed it for a moment, but that had fled. Not a gesture—not a breath, denoted that she felt the indignant speech of Ichabod. At its close, however, her ear detected a slight rustling among the leaves, near the door of the hut, and Panther glided from among the boughs, and crept towards an adjoining lodge.
Scarcely had she seen the retreat of the Seneca chief, than the whole expression of her countenance changed—her figure became erect—a fire gleamed in her eyes—a look of intense hatred clouded her countenance. Then, springing towards the bed of Ichabod, she exclaimed—
"It is a lie. Look at me, friend of Eagle's-Wing. It is a lie: the heart of Singing-Bird is with her husband. She thinks only of him. Tell Eagle's-Wing so. Tell him I shall soon fly from the Senecas."
Ichabod gazed on her now with admiration. Such consummate acting, though he thought himself skilled in Indian ways, he had never seen before. He had seen warriors die bravely, and, unmoved in the hour of peril, exasperate their enemies by words of reproach and shame: he had seen the Indian smile as the scalping-knife tore from his brow the lock of honor; but never did he imagine that one so young, so beautiful, so loving, could give to her countenance a look so false, with a heart so true.
"God bless thee, girl!" exclaimed he. "Give me a woman, after all, for stratagem. I don't know when I shall see Eagle's-Wing, but when I do, I'll tell him if he don't snatch you from these red devils, he ought to be scalped by Panther himself. Who would have believed it?"
"Eagle's-Wing's friend don't hate Singing-Bird now?"
"Hate you? Lord love you, girl! Give me your hand——- Pshaw! I haven't got a hand to give you: but after this, girl, I'll always believe you, and will find some means to get you out of this scrape. When are these Indians going to leave here?"
"Don't know," said Singing-Bird. "They want to get Eagle's-Wing, first."