She drew a small box from her bosom and handed it to her companion.
"Take this, box," she continued. "I know not what it contains; but I took it from my father before escaping from his camp with your sister. Keep it preciously, in order that, if Heaven allow us ever to meet again, you may restore it to me."
"I promise it."
"Now, Don Pablo, whatever may happen, know that I love you, and that your name will be the last word that passes my lips."
"Oh! Let me believe, let me hope that one day perhaps—"
"Never!" she exclaimed, in her turn, with an accent impossible to describe. "However great my love may be, my father's blood will separate us eternally."
The young man bowed his head in despair at these words—a gloomy malediction, which enabled him to measure the depth of the abyss into which he had fallen. They continued their journey silently, side by side.
The Sachem of the Coras, as we said, acted as guide to the little party. On reaching a spot where the path he followed took a sudden bend in the river bank, he stopped, and imitated the cry of the jay. At this signal, Valentine dug his spurs into his horse and galloped up to him.
"Is there anything new?" he asked.
"Nothing, except that in a few minutes we shall be opposite the islet where Red Cedar established his camp."