'It is a truth,' he quavered. 'Surely as to-morrow's sun will kiss yonder trees, shall you cry for vengeance on the betrayer.'
With a slight shudder—the night air was chill—Menotah stepped back from the hut. 'You cannot kill my heart with your bodings, old Father,' she said sternly. 'To-morrow, perhaps, you will speak in a different manner.'
But, at the moment of departure, a tall figure, enveloped in a long cloak, came quickly from the shadowy trees in ghostly fashion. It might have been man or woman. As this apparition reached the clearing round the hut, Menotah beheld it and cried aloud with startled surprise.
The old Antoine came to the door at the sound. But when his eyes fell upon the cloaked figure, a mighty fear of the unknown overwhelmed him.
'To the water, child!' he cried shrilly. 'Tis the Mutchi-Manitou. He comes from the swamp to seize you. To the water! His power is only upon land.'
But she showed no such fear. She merely caught the black cloak, and said, 'You should not be here. Why have you come?'
'You haven't been near me all day,' said the figure. 'I am out of food, and hungry.'
She drew this apparition back to the forest with eager hands. 'I will come when the moon shines, and laugh at the spirits of the dead. But there is someone within the hut.'
The figure stepped away silently, while Antoine came feebly forward.
'What is this, child?' he asked, yet with tone of suspicion.