"Why do you ask me that question?" the young man asked him, with a start.
"Because," the hunter answered, "you have not come so far, Don Leo, merely to enjoy my company a little longer. You must, I repeat, have something to say to me."
"Yes, it is true," he said, with an effort; "you have guessed it. I wish to speak with you; but I know not how it is, my throat rises. I cannot find words to express my feelings. Oh, if I possessed your experience, and your knowledge of Indian language, no other than myself, I assure you, Marksman, would have gone to Quiepaa Tani."
"Yes, it must be so," the hunter muttered, speaking to himself, rather than answering his friend; "and why should it not be so? Love is the sun of youth. All love in this world. Why should two handsome and well-made beings alone remain insensible to each other and not love? What do you wish me to say to them for you?" he added quickly.
"Oh!" the young man exclaimed, "you perceived, then, that I loved her? You are master, then, of the secret which I did not dare to confess to myself!"
"Do not be alarmed about that, my friend. The secret is as safe in my heart as in yours."
"Alas, my friend! the words I should wish to say to her my mouth alone could utter with the hope of making them reach her heart. Say nothing to her, that will be best; but you can tell her that I am here, and watching over her, and that I shall die or she will be free soon in her father's arms."
"I will tell her all that, my friend."
"And then," he added, breaking, by a feverish movement, a little steel chain round his neck, which held a small bag of black velvet, "take this amulet. It is all that is left to me of my mother," he said, with a sigh; "she hung it round my neck on the day of my birth. It is a sacred relic—a piece of the true cross, blessed by the pope; give it to her, and let her guard it preciously, for it has preserved me from many perils. That is all I can do for her at this moment. Go, my friend, save her, as I am compelled to form silent vows for her deliverance. You love me, Marksman. I will only add one word,—from the attempt you make at this moment my life or death will result. Farewell! farewell!"
Seizing the hunter's hand with a nervous movement, he pressed it forcibly several times, and, turning quickly away, not to let his tears be seen, he rushed into the forest, where he disappeared, after making a last sign with his hand to his friend, who was watching his departure. After Don Miguel's departure, the Canadian stood for a moment a prey to extraordinary sorrow. "Poor young man!" he muttered, with a profound sigh, "is that the state people are in when they love?" In a moment he overcame the strange emotion which contracted his heart, and boldly raised his head. "The die is cast!" he said. "Forward!" Then assuming the easy, careless step of an Indian, he proceeded, slowly to the plain, while looking inquiringly around him.