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“A wolf is forever howling; a hog will always eat. They have lost warriors; even their women will call out for vengeance. The paleface has the eyes of an eagle, and can see into a Mingo’s heart; he looks for no mercy. There is a cloud over his spirit, though it is not before his face.”

A long, thoughtful pause succeeded, during which Hist stealthily took the hand of the chief, as if seeking his support, though she scarce ventured to raise her eyes to a countenance that was now literally becoming terrible, under the conflicting passions and stern resolution that were struggling in the breast of its owner.

“What will the son of Uncas do?” the girl at length timidly asked. “He is a chief, and is already celebrated in council, though so young; what does his heart tell him is wisest? does the head, too, speak the same words as the heart?”

“What does Wah-ta-Wah say, at a moment when my dearest friend is in danger? The smallest birds sing the sweetest; it is always pleasant to hearken to their songs. I wish I could hear the Wren of the Woods in my difficulty; its note would reach deeper than the ear.”

Again Hist experienced the profound gratification that the language of praise can always awaken, when uttered by those we love. The “Honeysuckle of the Hills” was a term often applied to the girl, by the young men of the Delawares, though it never sounded so sweet in her ears as from the lips of Chingachgook; but the latter alone had ever styled her the Wren of the Woods. With him however, it had got to be a familiar phrase, and it was past expression pleasant to the listener, since it conveyed to her mind the idea that her advice and sentiments were as acceptable to her future husband, as the tones of her voice and modes of conveying them were agreeable; uniting the two things most prized by an Indian girl, as coming from her betrothed, admiration for a valued physical advantage, with respect for her opinion. She pressed the hand she held between both her own, and answered—

“Wah-ta-Wah says that neither she nor the Great Serpent could ever laugh again, or ever sleep without dreaming of the Hurons, should the Deerslayer die under a Mingo tomahawk, and they do nothing to save him. She would rather go back, and start on her long path alone, than let such a dark cloud pass before her happiness.”

“Good! The husband and wife will have but one heart; they will see with the same eyes, and feel with the same feelings.”

What further was said need not be related here. That the conversation was of Deerslayer, and his hopes, has been seen already, but the decision that was come to, will better appear in the course of the narrative. The youthful pair were yet conversing when the sun appeared above the tops of the pines, and the light of a brilliant American day streamed down into the valley, bathing “in deep joy” the lake, the forests, and the mountain sides. Just at this instant Deerslayer came out of the cabin of the ark, and stepped upon the platform. His first look was at the cloudless heavens, then his rapid glance took in the entire panorama of land and water, when he had leisure for a friendly nod at his friends and a cheerful smile for Hist.

“Well,” he said, in his usual composed manner, and pleasant voice; “he that sees the sun set in the west, and wakes ‘arly enough in the morning, will be sartain to find him coming back ag’in in the east, like a buck that is hunted round his ha‘nts. I dare say, now, Hist, you’ve beheld this, time and ag’in, and yet it never entered into your galish mind to ask the reason?”

Both Chingachgook and his betrothed looked up at the luminary with an air that betokened sudden wonder, and then they gazed at each other, as if to seek the solution of the difficulty. Familiarity deadens the sensibilities, even as connected with the gravest natural phenomena; and never before had these simple beings thought of inquiring into a movement that was of daily occurrence, however puzzling it might appear on investigation. When the subject was thus suddenly started, it