At length Lamont turned upon him in anger. 'What about the night of the fight? Perhaps you don't know that my rifle was once sighted for your heart. A motion of the finger, and you would have gone to your fantastic paradise. But I spared you, for you were more of the man than your followers.'
Not a muscle stirred along Muskwah's stolid countenance. 'The gift which is unsought is no gift. Mayhap I might even now be happier, had you sent my soul to join those who fell in death. For with one hand you have held out life, yet with the other have you taken away its light.'
'So now you follow me with the request that I should give you that which is as much mine as yours. You seek Menotah's love—'
'Surely!' broke in the Indian, with a fury of passion. 'What other woman is there who can so stir the heart within a man? Who would not die for her favour, or fight for her love?'
A sneer crossed Lamont's face, while his eyes grew cold. The keen-sighted Indian marked the change. 'Let not the white chief mock at my poor words. It is the heart that speaks, and the tongue must obey the thought. The white chief knows that my love is for Menotah, that my life joy lies at the utterance of her voice. He would not take away the sun, the day shine, and leave only the black night of despair.'
'Wouldn't he?' said Lamont, coolly. 'Why not?'
'Because he is merciful,' cried Muskwah, clasping his sinewy hands. 'Every man may love, yet none may resign the heart already bound.'
Lamont laughed. 'What a sickly sentiment,' he muttered carelessly.
The eyes of the Indian flashed, while his bosom heaved. He raised his hands, with head erect, in a pose of proud defiance. Then in a soft monotone he poured forth the emotional phrases of his heart,—
There is yet the great truth, which is spirit sent, behind my weak words. Listen, white chief, while I teach you the power of love.