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[FULL-SIZE] -- [Medium-Size]
“After having sought the tomb of his sister and of the hermit in vain, he was on the point of abandoning the spot, when the fawn from the grotto set to leaping in front of him. She stopped at the foot of the Mission cross. That cross was then half surrounded by water; the wood of it was covered with moss, and the pelican of the wilderness loved to perch upon its worm-eaten arms. Chactas judged that the graceful fawn had led him to the tomb of his host.
“He dug below the rock that had formerly served as an altar, and there found the remains of a man and woman. He had no doubt but they were those of the priest and of the virgin, buried, perhaps, by the angels in that place; so he wrapped them in bear-skins, and started on his way back to his country, carrying off the precious remains, which sounded on his shoulders like the quiver of death. At night he placed them under his pillow, and had dreams of love and of virtue. O stranger! you may here contemplate that dust, and also the remains of Chactas himself.”
As the Indian finished speaking, I rose, went towards the sacred ashes, and prostrated myself before them in silence. I afterwards walked away slowly, and with long strides, saying to myself, “Thus ends upon earth all that is good, virtuous and feeling! Man, thou art but a rapid and painful dream! Thou only existest by misfortune; and if thou art anything at all, it is merely by the sadness of thy soul and the eternal melancholy of thy thoughts!”