“Why, is he not yet in the hands of an enemy whose cruelty and treachery are proverbial? What if the Crow chief should, in spite of his solemn promise, refuse to give up his prisoners?”
“It cannot be,” she replied gravely; “God will not permit such falsehood.”
“You speak,” said Reginald, “like one who has studied chiefly your own heart, and the precious book now lying at your side; but even there you may have read that the Almighty sometimes permits falsehood and wickedness to triumph upon earth.”
“It is too true,” replied Prairie–bird; “yet I feel a strong assurance that our friends will return to us in safety. I cannot tell whence it comes—whether from a dream sent in the watches of the night, or the secret whispers of some mysterious and unseen counsellor, but it brings hope, rest, and comfort to my heart.”
“God forbid,” said Reginald passionately, “that I should say any thing likely to banish such sweet guests from so sweet a home. But if the Crow chief should be guilty of this treacherous act of falsehood, I will endeavour to inflict upon him a vengeance so signal as shall deter him and his tribe from any future repetition of the crime.”
“It is lawful,” replied the maiden, “to recover our friends by force or device, if they are detained by treachery; but remember, dear Reginald, that vengeance belongs not to our erring and fallen race; if the Upsaroka should sin as you expect, defeat, if you can, his evil schemes, but leave his punishment to the Great Avenger, who can make his latter days loathsome as those of Gehazi, or his death sudden and fearful as that of Ananias and his guilty spouse.”
Reginald coloured deeply, for his conscience reminded him that on a late occasion he had used, in a discussion with War–Eagle, the same argument as that now applied with so much force to himself, and he felt ashamed of having forgotten, in the excitement of his own passions, a truth which he had laboured strongly to impress upon another.
“Thanks, dearest monitress,” he replied, “for recalling me to my better self; would that you were always by my side to control my impatience and reprove the hastiness of my temper. Nay, I trust ere long that you will be always at my side; your father and instructor will return, and will unite us in those holy bands not to be severed by man. You will then leave the prairie and the tent, and come with me to a home where a second father and a loving sister claim a share in your affection.”
“It shall be so,” replied Prairie–bird, in a low and earnest voice; “read my answer in the language of one who, like myself, was humble and friendless, but who, trusting in her God, found in a strange land a husband and a home.”
“Nay, read it to me,” said Reginald, anticipating her selection; “however beautiful the words may be, your voice will make them fall more sweetly on my ear.”