“How would it be possible to do otherwise?” she replied, looking up in his face with an expression of innocent surprise; “Can any one look upon the flowers of the prairie, the beauty of the swift antelope, the shade of the valleys, the hills and snow–clad mountains, the sun, the moon, and the thousand thousand worlds above, and yet not worship Him who framed them?”
“I grant you, dearest,” he replied, “that no reasonable being could consider those things without experiencing the emotions that you describe, yet many, very many, will not consider them; still fewer are there who refer the thoughts, actions, and events of daily life to an ever–present, over–ruling Providence.”
“Surely they can never have read this book,” she said, pointing to the volume which was her constant companion; “or they must feel ever grateful for past mercies, present benefits, and the blessed promises of the future revealed in it!”
For a moment Reginald cast his eyes upon the ground, conscience reminding him of many occasions on which he had been led by temptation and carelessness to wander from those ordinances and precepts of religion which he respected and approved; at length he replied, “True, my beloved, but the human heart is a treacherous guide, and often betrays into errors which reason and revelation would alike condemn.”
“It may be so among the cities and crowded haunts of men, of which I know nothing beyond what I have read and what the Black Father has taught me; yet I cannot understand how a loving heart can be, in such cases, a treacherous guide. Is it not sweet to serve one whom we love on earth, to think of him, to bless him, to follow where he points the way, to afford him pleasure, to fulfil his wishes, even before they are expressed? If such feelings be sweet and natural towards one frail and imperfect as ourselves, why should the heart refuse to entertain them towards the one perfect Being, our ever–present Benefactor, the Fountain of Love?”
Again Reginald was silent; the impassioned eloquence of her eyes told him how her heart overflowed with feelings but faintly shadowed in her simple language; and he desired rather to share than to shake her creed. Why should he tell her, that in spite of all the incentives of hope and gratitude, in spite of all the arguments of reason and the truths of revelation, the great majority of the so–called Christian world pursued their daily course of business or amusement as if the present were the substance of life, and eternity a dream? Reginald felt his own heart softened, purified, and exalted by communion with the gentle being at his side; the cares and troubles of life might perhaps disturb at some future time the current of her lot, but her faith was built upon a Rock that would not be shaken, and his spirit, already sympathising with hers, experienced a new and delightful sensation of happiness.
He might have indulged longer in this blissful reverie, had not his ear caught the sound of an approaching footstep: he turned quickly, and recognising the light form of Wingenund, exclaimed, “See, Prairie–bird, our dear young brother safely returned! May all your other hopeful anticipations be as happily realised! Speak, Wingenund; let us hear how you have sped in your difficult and dangerous mission?”
Instead of giving the youth’s narrative in his own words, we will resume the thread of his story where we left it, being thus enabled to relate various particulars which his modesty induced him to omit.
At the first dawn of day he looked round the horse–dealer’s lodge, and made a survey of its inmates. In the centre lay Besha himself, and by his side a squaw from one of the southern tribes, who had been the companion of his rambles and expeditions for many years. Beyond them there slept, or seemed to sleep, a youth, whose appearance indicated that he also belonged to a southern clime, and that some Mexican blood ran in his veins; his features were finely formed, his complexion darker than that of a northern Indian, and a short moustachio began to shade his upper lip; his eye was small, but piercing, and black as jet, and scarcely was the light sufficient to render distinguishable the objects in the lodge ere his quick gaze fell upon Wingenund, with an expression that convinced the latter that the plot had been confided to him. These were the only inmates of the lodge, which was filled with various indications of its owner’s success in trade, packages and bales being piled therein to a considerable height.
Agreeably to the plan preconcerted by Besha, his wife invited Bending–willow to come to her in the course of the morning; and, on her arrival, set before her some cakes of maize, sweetened with sugar,—a luxury equally new and agreeable to the Upsaroka bride. Further civilities beyond those interchangeable by signs were precluded between them, by the circumstance of their being each entirely ignorant of the other’s language; but the offering of a string of blue beads after the cakes completed the triumph of the hostess in the good graces of her guest.