CHAPTER XXXVIII.

The stillness of death pervaded the great lodge of the Oneidas; and yet it was not vacant. But Black Eagle sat in the outer chamber alone. With no eye to see him--with none to mark the traces of those emotions which the Indian so carefully conceals from observation, he gave way, in a degree at least, to feelings which, however sternly hidden from others, wrought powerfully in his own heart. His bright blue and scarlet apparel, feathers and belt, medals and armlets, were thrown aside; and, with his head bowed, his face full of gloomy sadness, and all the strong muscles of his finely-proportioned figure relaxed, he sat like an exquisite figure of grief sculptured in porphyry. No tear, indeed, bedewed his eyelids; no sigh escaped his lips; but the very attitude bespoke his sorrow, and there was something awfully sad in the perfect unvarying stillness of his form.

Oh, what a terrible strife was going on within! Grief is ten times more terrible to those who concentrate it in the heart, than to those who pour it forth upon the wide air.

The door of the lodge opened. He started, and instantly was himself again: the head upright, the face clear, the aspect active and dignified.

"Where hast thou been, my child?" asked the chief, gazing on his daughter as she entered, with feelings mingled of a thousand strong emotions,--parental love, fond admiration, pity, regret, and manifold memories.

"Where thou hast permitted me to go, my father," she answered, with a smile so bland and sweet that a momentary suspicion crossed her father's mind.

"Thou dost not forget thy promise, my Blossom," he said, in a tone as stern as he ever used to her.

"Oh no, my father," answered Otaitsa; "didst thou ever know me do so? To see him, to be with him in his long captivity--to move the rock between us, and to let some light into his dark lodge--I promised that if thou wouldst let me stay with him even a few hours each day, I would do naught, try naught, for his escape. Otaitsa has not a double tongue for her own father. Is Black Eagle's eye dim, that it cannot see his child's heart? Her heart is in his hand."

"How fares the boy?" asked her father. "Is there sunshine with him, or a cloud?"

"Sunshine," said Otaitsa, simply. "We sat and talked of death. It must be very happy."

The chief gazed at her silently for a few moments, and then asked--"Does _he_ think so too?"

"He makes _me_ think so," answered the Blossom. "Must it not be happy where there is no weeping, no slaughter, no parting of dear friends and lovers; where a Saviour and Redeemer is ever ready to mediate even for those who do such deeds as these?"

"The Great Spirit is good," said Black Eagle thoughtfully; "the happy hunting-grounds are ever ready for those who die bravely in battle."

"For those who do good," returned Otaitsa, with a sigh; "for those who spare their enemies, and show mercy to such as obey the voice of God in their own hearts, and are merciful and forgiving to their fellow-men."

Black Eagle smiled. "A woman's religion," he said. "Why should I forgive my enemies? The voice of God you speak of in my heart teaches me to kill them; for, if I did not, they would kill me."

"Not if they were Christians too," said Otaitsa. "The voice of God tells all men to spare each other, to love each other; and if every one obeyed it, there would be no such thing as enemies. All would be friends and brethren."

Black Eagle mused, for a moment or two, and then answered, "But there _are_ enemies, and therefore I must kill them."

"That is because men obey the voice of the Evil Spirit, and not that of the Good," rejoined the Blossom. "Will my father do so? Black Eagle has the voice of the Good Spirit in his heart. He loves children, he loves his friends, he spares women, and has taught the Oneidas to spare them. All this comes from the voice of the Good Spirit. Will he not listen to it further?"

Her parent remained lost in thought; and, believing that she had gained something, Otaitsa went on to the point nearest to her heart.

"The Black Eagle is just," she said; "he dispenses equity between man and man. Is it either just, or does it come from the voice of the Good Spirit, that he should slay one who has done good and not harm? that he should kill a man for another man's fault? Even if it be permitted to him to slay an enemy, is it permitted to slay a friend? If the laws of the Oneidas are unjust, if they teach faithlessness to one who trusted them, if they are contrary to the voice of the Good Spirit, is not Black Eagle a great chief, who can change them, and teach his children better things?"

Her father started up, and waved his hand impatiently.

"No more," he said, "no more. When I hear the voice of the Good Spirit, and know it, I will obey it. But our laws came from Him, and I will abide by the sayings of our fathers."

As he spoke, he strode to the door of the lodge, and gazed forth, while Otaitsa wept in silence. She saw that it was in vain to plead further, and, gliding up to her parent's side, she touched his arm reverently with her hand.

"My father," she said, "I give thee back the permission to see him, and I take back my promise. Otaitsa will not deceive her father; but the appointed hour is drawing on, and she will save her husband if she can. She has laid no plan with him, she has formed no scheme, she has not spoken to him of safety or escape. She has deceived Black Eagle in nothing: but now she tells him that she will shrink from nothing, no not from death itself, to save her brother Walter."

"Koué, Koué! my Blossom," ejaculated the chief, in a tone of profound melancholy. "Thou canst do nothing." Then, raising his head suddenly, he added, "Go, my daughter; it is well. If thy mother has made thee soft and tender as a flower, thy father has given thee the courage of the eagle. Go in peace; do what thou canst; but thou wilt fail."

"Then will I die!" exclaimed Otaitsa.

And gliding past him, she sought her way through the huts.

The first door she stopped at was partly covered with strange paintings, in red and blue colours, representing, in rather grotesque forms, men, and animals, and flowers. She entered, at once, without hesitation; and found, seated in the dim twilight before a large fire, the old priest who had spoken last at the council of the chiefs in the glen. His ornaments bespoke a chief of high degree; and several deep scars in his long, meagre limbs showed that he had been known in the battle-field. He did not even look round when the Blossom entered, but still sat gazing at the flickering flame, without the movement of a limb or feature. Otaitsa seated herself before him, and gazed at his face in silence, waiting for him to speak.

At the end of not less than five minutes, he turned his head a little, looked at her, and asked--

"What would the Blossom with the Old Cedar-tree?"

"I would take counsel with wisdom," replied the girl. "I would hear the voice of the warrior who is just, and the great chief who is merciful. Let him whom my mother reverenced most after her husband amongst the children of the Stone, speak words of comfort to Otaitsa."

She then, in language which, in rich imagery, and even in peculiarities of style, had a striking resemblance to the Hebrew writings, poured forth to him all the circumstances of Walter's capture, and of their love and plighted faith; and, with the same arguments which we have seen already used, she tried to convince him of the wrong and injustice done to her lover.

The old man listened with the usual appearance of apathy; but the beautiful girl before him gathered that he was much moved at heart, by the gradual bending down of his head till his forehead nearly touched his knees.

When she ceased, he remained silent for several moments, according to their custom; and then raised his head, saying,--

"How can the Old Cedar help thee? His boughs are withered, and the snows of more than seventy winters have bent them down. His roots are shaken in the ground, and the first blast of the tempest will lay him low. But the law of the Oneidas is in his heart: he cannot change it or pervert it. By thine own saying, it is clear that the Good Spirit will do nothing to save this youth. The young warrior is the first they lay hands on. No means have been found for his escape. No pale-face has come into the Oneida land, who might be made to take his place. All thine efforts to rescue him have been seeds that bore no fruit. If the Good Spirit wished to save him, he would provide a means. I have no counsel; and my heart is dead, for I loved thy mother as a child. She was to me as the evening star coming from afar to shine upon the night of my days; but I have no way to help her child, no words to give her comfort. Has not the Black Eagle a sister who loved thy mother well, who has seen well-nigh as many winters as I have, and who has a charm from the Great Spirit? Her lodge is even now filled with wise women of the tribe, taking counsel together as to this matter of the young chief. All love him well, except the dark and evil Honontkoh: all would save him, whether men or women of the nation, were not the law of the Oneida against him. Go to her lodge, then, and with her take counsel; for the Cedar-tree is without words."