Marmion.
At this moment the Assistant Spikeman entered the room. His advance had been so noiseless that it was unobserved by either the girl or the Indian, so entirely were they engrossed by the adventure of the portrait.
"Whom have we here?" he exclaimed. "Methinks, Prudence, there are other parts of the dwelling more fit for such visitors."
"I desired to see," said the girl, evasively, "how a savage would act who never had beholden a painting. There is no great harm in that," she added, pouting.
"And doubtless he mistook it for a live man. Master Vandyke had skill, I trow, to deceive more learned eyes than those of a wild Indian. But, Prudence, thou knowest that I mean not to chide thee. Far different words arise spontaneously to my lips. But go, now, and I will pay the honors to thy red friend."
"He is no more friend of mine than I hope all the world are my friends," answered the girl, glad to get away to acquaint the lovers that Spikeman was in the house.
"I wish," she muttered, as she closed the door, though not so loud as to be overheard, "that some folk were not so great friends of mine."
"Have my people given my friend anything to eat?" inquired the Assistant, on the departure of the girl.
"Waqua is not hungry," answered the Indian. "His white brother has fed him until he has no place for more."
"What thinks Waqua of the painted man?" asked the Assistant, observing that the eyes of the savage wandered every now and then to the painting.