"How beautiful," she continued, "must this goodly land have seemed to the Indian hunter, when, after the day's chase, he dropped the deer upon the ground, and, from this high point, looked over the green forests and shining stream. I should not wonder, if now, in the voice of the cataract, he fancies he hears the groans of his ancestors, and the screams of demons."
"There are traditions connected with this place," said Bernard, "but they are fast fading away, and promise soon to be forgotten."
"Are you acquainted with any?"
"A friend of mine has endeavored to rescue one from oblivion, but I doubt if it would interest you."
"I am interested in everything that relates to this people. Tell me the story now. What more fitting place for romance!"
"A fitting place certainly, but no fitting time. Romance would hardly mitigate the keenness of the air, or diminish the probability of taking cold, were you to stand here listening to Indian legends. Besides, the tale is in manuscript, and I should not be able, relying on memory, to do it justice."
"You shall read it to me this evening, where you cannot make such excuses," she replied, taking again his arm, and resuming their walk, "by the light of candles, and near the parlor fire, where we may hear, and not feel the wind."
"But where would be the accompaniments of the tale? The framing I fear would spoil the picture."
"You will have the benefit of contrast, which every great painter desires."
"I am only too happy to please you," he said, with a sigh.