Chapter 31

"Ha! sure he sleeps--all's dark within save what A lamp, that feebly lifts a sickly flame, By fits reveals. His face seems turned to favour The attempt. I'll steal and do it unperceived." _Mourning Bride._

All were wrapt in silence and in slumber, save the weary sentinels, who paced drowsily up and down before the door of the house, humming in a low tone the popular Lillibullero, or silently communing with their brother sentry in the sky. The family, providing for the fatigues of the following day, had early retired to rest, and even Virginia, worn down by excitement and agitation, having been assured by her father of the certain safety of Hansford, had yielded to the restoring influences of sleep. How little did the artless girl, or her unsuspicious father, suppose that beneath their roof they had been cherishing a demon, who, by his wily machinations, was weaving a web around his innocent victim, cruel and inextricable.

We have said that all save the watchful sentinels were sleeping; but one there was from whose eyes and from whose heart revenge had driven sleep. Mamalis--the poor, hapless Mamalis--whose sorrows had been forgotten in the general excitement which had prevailed--Mamalis knew but one thought, and that was no dream. Her brother, the pride and refuge of her maiden heart, lay stiff and murdered by the way-side--his death unwept, his dirge unsung, his brilliant hopes of fame cut off ere they had fully budded. And his murderer was near her! Could she hesitate? Had she not been taught, in her simple faith, that the blood of the victim requires the blood of his destroyer? The voice of her brother's blood called to her from the ground. Nor did it call in vain. It is true, he had been harsh, nay sometimes even cruel to her, but when was woman's heart, when moved to softness, ever mindful of the wrongs she had endured? Ask yourself, when standing by the lifeless corse of one whom you have dearly loved, if then you can remember aught but kindness, and love, and happiness, in your association with the loved one. One gentle word, one sweet smile, one generous action, though almost faded from the memory before, obscures forever all the recollection of wrongs inflicted and injuries endured.

She was in the room occupied by Virginia Temple. Oh, what a contrast between the two! Yes, there they were--Revenge and Innocence! The one lay pure and beautiful in sleep; her round, white arm thrown back upon the pillow, to form a more snowy resting place for her lovely cheek. From beneath her cap some tresses had escaped, which, happy in release, were sporting in the soft air that wooed them through the open window. Her face, at other times too spiritually pale, was now slightly flushed by the sultry warmth of the night. A smile of peaceful happiness played around her lips, as she dreamed, perhaps, of some wild flower ramble which in happier days she had had with Hansford. Her snowy bosom, which in her restlessness she had nearly bared, was white and swelling as a wave which plays in the calm moonlight. Such was the beautiful being who lay sleeping calmly in the arms of Innocence, while the dark, but not less striking, form of the Indian girl bent over, to discover if she slept. She was dressed as we have before described, with the short deer-skin smock, extending to her knees, and fitted closely round the waist with a belt of wampum. Her long black hair was bound by a simple riband, and fell thickly over her shoulders in dark profusion. In her left hand she held a lamp, and it was fearful to mark, by its faint, glimmering light, the intense earnestness of her countenance. There were some traces of tears upon her cheek, but these were nearly dried. Her bright black eyes were lighted by a strange, unnatural fire, which they never knew before. It seemed as though you might see them in the dark. In her right hand she held a small dagger, which _he_ had given her as a pledge of a brother's love. Fit instrument to avenge a brother's death!

She seemed to be listening and watching to hear or see the slightest movement from the slumbering maiden. But all was still!

"I slept not thus," she murmured, "the night I heard him vow his vengeance against your father. Before the birds had sung their morning song I came to warn you. Now all I loved, my country, my friends, my brother, have gone forever, and none shares the tears of the Indian maiden."

She turned away with a sigh from the bedside of Virginia, and carefully replaced the dagger in her belt. She then took a key which was lying on the table and clutched it with an air of triumph. That key she had stolen from the pocket of Alfred Bernard while he slept--for what will not revenge, and woman's revenge, dare to do. Then taking up a water pitcher, and extinguishing the light, she softly left the room.

As she endeavoured to pass the outer door she was accosted by the hoarse voice of the sentinel--"Who comes there?" he cried.

"A friend," she answered, timidly.

"You cannot pass, friend, without a permit from the Governor. Them's his orders."

"I go to bring some water for the sick maiden," she said earnestly, showing him the pitcher. "She is far from well. Let her not suffer for a draught of water."

"Well," said the pliant soldier, yielding; "you are a good pleader, pretty one. That dark face of yours looks devilish well by moonlight. What say you; if I let you pass, will you come and sit with me when you get back? It's damned lonesome out here by myself."

"I will do any thing you wish when I return," said the girl.

"Easily won, by Wenus," said the gallant soldier, as he permitted Mamalis to pass on her supposed errand.

Freed from this obstruction, she glided rapidly through the yard, and soon stood before the door of the small house which she had learned was appropriated as the prison of Berkenhead. Turning the key softly in the lock, she pulled the latch-string and gently opened the door. A flood of moonlight streamed upon the floor, encumbered with a variety of plantation utensils. By the aid of this light Mamalis soon recognized the form and features of the fated Berkenhead, who was sleeping in one corner of the room. She knelt over him and feasted her eyes with the anticipation of her deep revenge. Fearing to be defeated in her design, for with her it was the foiled attempt and "not the act which might confound," she bared his bosom and sought his heart. The motion startled the sleeping soldier. "The devil," he said, half opening his eyes; "its damned light." Just as he pronounced the last word the fatal dagger of Mamalis found its way into his heart. "It is all dark now," she said, bitterly, and rising from her victim, she glided through the door and left him with his God.

With the native shrewdness of her race, Mamalis did not forget that she had still to play a part, and so without returning directly to the house, she repaired to the well and filled her pitcher. She even offered the sentinel a drink as she repassed him on her return, and promising once more to come back, when she had carried the water to the "sick maiden," she stole quietly into the room occupied by Bernard, replaced the key in his pocket as before, and hastened up stairs again.

And there seated once more by the bedside of the sleeping Virginia, the young Indian girl sang, in a low voice, at once her song of triumph and her brother's dirge, in that rich oriental improvisation for which the Indians were so remarkable. We will not pretend to give in the original words of this beautiful requiem, but furnish the reader, in default of a better, with the following free translation, which may give some faint idea of its beauty:--

"They have plucked the flower from the garden of my heart, and have torn the soil where it tenderly grew. He was bright and beautiful as the bounding deer, and the shaft from his bow was as true as his unchanging soul! Rest with the Great Spirit, soul of my brother!

"The Great Spirit looked down in pity on my brother; Manitou has snatched him from the hands of the dreadful Okee. On the shores of the spirit-land, with the warriors of his tribe he sings the song of his glory, and chases the spirit deer over the immaterial plains! Rest with the Great Spirit, soul of my brother!

"But I, his sister, am left lonely and desolate; the hearth-stone of Mamalis is deserted. Yet has my hand sought revenge for his murder, and my bosom exults over the destruction of his destroyer! Rest with the Great Spirit, soul of my brother!

"Rest with the Great Spirit, soul of Manteo, till Mamalis shall come to enjoy thy embraces. Then welcome to thy spirit home the sister of thy youth, and reward with thy love the avenger of thy death! Rest with the Great Spirit, soul of my brother!"

As her melancholy requiem died away, Mamalis rose silently from the seat, and bent once more over the form of the sleeping Virginia. As she felt the warm breath of the pure young girl upon her cheek, and watched the regular beating of her heart, and then contrasted the purity of the sleeping maiden with her own wild, guilty nature, she started back in horror. For the first time she felt remorse at the commission of her crime, and with a heavy sigh she hurriedly left the room, as though it were corrupted by her presence.