Part 35 (1/2)

The calm mien with which Conanchet had been listening, changed to a cold smile. His hand had felt for the lock of the musket, some time before his companion had betrayed any consciousness of the approaching footstep; but until questioned, no change of countenance was visible.

”Is my father afraid for his friend?” he asked, pointing in the direction of him who approached. ”Is it an armed warrior?”

”No: he cometh with the means of sustaining a burthen that must be borne, until it pleaseth him who knoweth what is good for all his creatures to ease me of it. It may be the parent of her thou hast this day restored to her friends, or it may be the brother; for, at times, I owe this kindness to different members of that worthy family.”

A look of intelligence shot across the swarthy features of the chief. His decision appeared taken. Arising, he left his weapon at the feet of his companion, and moved swiftly along the ledge, as if to meet the intruder.

In another instant he returned, bearing a little bundle closely enveloped in belts of richly-beaded wampum. Placing the latter gently by the side of the old man, for time had changed the color of the solitary's hair to gray, he said, in a low, quick voice, pointing with significance at what he had done--

”The Messenger will not go back with an empty hand. My father is wise; he will say what is good.”

There was little time for further explanation. The door of the hut had scarcely closed on Conanchet, before Mark Heathcote appeared at the point where the path bent around the angle of the precipice.

”Thou knowest what hath pa.s.sed, and wilt suffer me to depart with brief discourse,” said the young man, placing food at the feet of him he came to seek; ”ha! what hast here?--didst gain this in the fray of the morning?”

”It is booty that I freely bestow; take it to the house of thy father. It is left with that object. Now tell me of the manner in which death hath dealt with our people, for thou knowest that necessity drove me from among them, so soon as liberty was granted.”

Mark showed no disposition to gratify the other's wish. He gazed on the bundle of Conanchet, as if his eye had never before looked on a similar object, and keenly contending pa.s.sions were playing about a brow that was seldom as tranquil as suited the self-denying habits of the times and country.

”It shall be done, Narragansett!” he said, speaking between his clenched teeth; ”it shall be done!” Then turning on his heel, he stalked along the giddy path with a rapidity of stride that kept the other in fearful suspense for his safety, until his active form had disappeared.

The recluse arose, and sought the occupant of his humble abode.

”Come forth,” he said, opening the narrow door for the pa.s.sage of the Chief. ”The youth hath departed with thy burthen, and thou art now alone with an ancient a.s.sociate.”

Conanchet reappeared at the summons, but it was with an eye less glowing and a brow less stern than when he entered the little cabin. As he moved slowly to the stone he had before occupied, his step was arrested for a moment, and a look of melancholy regret seemed to be cast at the spot where he had laid the bundle. Conquering his feelings, however, in the habitual self-command of his people, he resumed his seat, with the air of one that was grave by nature, while he appeared to exert no effort in order to preserve the admirable equanimity of his features. A long and thoughtful silence succeeded, and then the solitary spoke.

”We have made a friend of the Narragansett Chief,” he said, ”and this league with Philip is broken?”

”Yengeese,” returned the other, ”I am full of the blood of Sachems.”

”Why should the Indian and the white do each other this violence? The earth is large, and there is place for men of all colors and of all nations on its surface.”

”My father hath found but little,” said the other, bestowing such a cautious glance at the narrow limits of his host, as at once betrayed the sarcastic purport of his words, while it equally bespoke the courtesy of his mind.

”A light-minded and vain prince is seated on the throne of a once-G.o.dly nation, Chief, and darkness has again come over a land which of late shone with a clear and s.h.i.+ning light! The just are made to flee from the habitations of their infancy, and the temples of the elect are abandoned to the abominations of idolatry. Oh England! England! when will thy cup of bitterness be full?--when shall this judgment pa.s.s from thee? My spirit groaneth over thy fall--yea, my inmost soul is saddened with the spectacle of thy misery!”

Conanchet was too delicate to regard the glazed eye and flushed forehead of the speaker, but he listened in amazement and in ignorance. Such expressions had often met his ear before, and though his tender years had probably prevented their producing much effect, now, that he again heard them in his manhood, they conveyed no intelligible meaning to his mind.

Suddenly laying a finger on the knee of his companion, he said--

”The arm of my father was raised on the side of the Yengeese, to-day; yet they give him no seat it their council-fire!”

”The sinful man, who ruleth in the island whence my people came, hath an arm that is long as his mind is vain. Though debarred from the councils of this valley, Chief, time hath been, when my voice was beard in councils that struck heavily at the power of his race. These eyes have seen justice done on him who gave existence to the double-tongued instrument of Belial, that now governeth a rich and glorious realm!”

”My father hath taken the scalp of a great chief!”

”I helped to take his head!” returned the solitary, a ray of bitter exultation gleaming through the habitual austerity of his brow.