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Ticonderoga; A Story of Early Frontier Life in the Mohawk Valley

<h4>CHAPTER XXIII</h4> We must now return to the scene in which this narrative first commenced; but, oh! how changed was the aspect of all things from that which the house of Mr. Prevost presented but five short months before! The father and the daughter were there alone. The brother no longer gleamed about the house, with his blithesome air and active energies, and the thought of him and of his fate hung continually, like a dark shadow, over those to whom he was so dear. They were not wholly without comfort; they were not wholly without hope; for, from time to time, renewed assurances came to them from many a quarter that Walter would still be saved. But still time wore on, and he was not delivered. During the winter Lord H---- visited them very frequently, and it is probable that, had no dark cloud overshadowed the hopes as well as the happiness of all, he would have pressed for the prize of Edith's hand without delay; but he loved not the mingling of joy and sorrow. In that, at least, his view of the world, and life, and fate, was deceitful. He was not yet convinced, although he had some experience, that such a thing as unalloyed happiness, even for a few short days, is not to be found on earth--that the only mine of gold without dross lies beneath the grave. In the meantime, the gathering together of British soldiers on the Hudson and the Mohawk had, like one wave meeting another, somewhat repelled the Indian tribes. A runner, a half-breed, or one or two redmen together--more frequently from the nation of the Mohawks than from any other tribe--would be seen occasionally, wandering through the woods, or crossing the open ground near the settler's dwelling; but they seldom approached the house, and their appearance caused no apprehension. Relations of the greatest amity had been established between the British authorities and the chiefs of the Five Nations, and several of the tribes were preparing to take part in the coming strife upon the side of England. Three times during the winter the house of Mr. Prevost was visited by a single Indian of the Oneida tribe. On two occasions it was a man who presented himself, and his stay was very short. On the first occasion, Edith was alone, when, without the sound of footsteps, he glided in like a dark shadow. His look was friendly, though for a moment he said nothing, and Edith, well knowing their habits, asked if he would take food. He answered yes, in his own language; and she called some of the servants to supply him; but before he ate, he looked up in her face, saying: "I am bidden to tell thee that thy brother shall be safe." "Whose words do you bear?" asked Edith; "is it the Black Eagle speaks?" "Nay; Otaitsa," replied the man. This was all she could learn, for the messenger was either ignorant of more or affected to be so; yet still it was a comfort to her. The next who came was a woman, somewhat past the middle age, and by no means beautiful. She stayed long, and with good-natured volubility related all that had happened immediately after Edith's visit to the Oneida Castle. She dwelt upon the attempt of the Blossom to deliver her lover as she would have expatiated upon some daring feat of courage in a warrior; and though in the end she had to tell how the maiden's bold effort had been frustrated, she added: "Yet he shall be safe; they shall not slay our brother." The third time the same man returned, bearing the same assurances; but, as hour after hour went by, and day by day, without the lad's return, or any definite news of him, hope sickened and grew faint. By this time it was known that the efforts of the Mohawks and the Onondagas had been frustrated; and, moreover, it was plainly intimated by the chiefs of those two nations that they would interfere no more. "The Oneidas have reproved us," they said, "and we had no reply. We must not make the children of the Stone hiss at our children; neither must we break the bonds of our alliance for a single man." The scouts who had been put under the order of Woodchuck were recalled to the army early in the spring without having effected anything. All that had been heard at the forts showed that the young prisoner had been removed to the very farthest part of the Oneida territory, where it was impossible for any single Englishman to penetrate without being discovered by the Indians. Of Woodchuck himself nothing was heard till the flowers began to spring up, close upon the footsteps of the snow. It was believed that he was still in the forest, but even of this no one was assured; and all that, with any accuracy, could be divined, was that he had not fallen into the hands of the Oneidas, inasmuch as there was every reason to believe that, had such been the case, Walter's liberation would have immediately followed. Thus matters had gone on in the household of Mr. Prevost, till about a month before the period at which I have thought best to present to the reader the three Indians seated on the hill. The day had been one of exceeding loveliness, and not without its activity, too, for a party of soldiers had been thrown forward for some object, to a spot within a mile and a half from the house, and Lord H---- had been twice there, making Edith's heart thrill, each time he appeared, with emotions still so new and strange as set her dreaming for an hour after he was gone. The evening had come, bringing with it some clouds in the western sky, and Edith, as she sat with her father, looked out from the window, with her head resting on her hand. As she gazed, she perceived a figure slowly crossing between the gardener boy and old Agrippa, who were working in the gardens, and apparently taking its course to the door of the house. At first she did not recognize it, for it was more like an Indian than that of a European, more like that of a bear than either. It had a human face, however, and as it came forward an impression, at first faint, but increasing with every step it advanced, took possession of her, that it must be the man whose fatal act had brought so much wretchedness upon her family. He was very much, very sadly changed; and although the bearskins in which he was dressed hid the emaciation of his form, the meagerness of his face was very evident as he came near. Edith lifted her head from her hand, saying: "I think, my father, here is Captain Brooks approaching. Poor man! he seems terribly changed!" Mr. Prevost started up, gazed for a moment from the window, and then hurried forth to meet him. Edith had the happiness to see her father take the wanderer kindly by the hand and lead him toward the door. Whatever had been Mr. Prevost's feelings, the sight of Woodchuck's altered face was enough to soften them entirely. The next moment they entered the room together, and Edith extended her hand kindly to him. "Ah, Miss Prevost, you are very good," he said; "and so is your father, too. I have not been to see you for a long time." "That was not right of you, Woodchuck," she said; "you should have come to see us. We know all you have been trying to do for my brother. If you cannot succeed it is not your fault, and we should have been glad to see you, both for your own sake and for the sake of hearing all your proceedings as they occurred." "Ah, but I have been far away," he answered. "I first tried to get at the poor boy from this side, and finding that would not do, I took a long round and came upon them from the west; but I got nothing but some information; and then I made up my mind. Them Ingians are as cunning as Satan. I have circumvented them once, but they won't let a man do it twice." Mr. Prevost had stood listening, eager to hear anything that related to his son. "We will more of this by and by, Brooks. Come into the hall and have some food. You must be hungry and tired, both, I am sure." "No," replied Woodchuck, "I am not hungry. Tired a little I am, I guess, though I have not walked more than forty miles. But I met a young Ingian, two or three hours ago, who gave me some venison steaks off his own fire. Some rest will soon set all to rights." "Take some wine at least," said Mr. Prevost; "that will do you good; you look quite faint." "Faint in limb, but not in heart," replied Woodchuck, stoutly. "However, I won't refuse the wine, for it was given to cheer the heart of man, as the Bible says, and mine wants cheering, though it does not want strengthening; for I'll do what I say, as I'm a living man." They took him into the hall, and persuaded him both to eat and drink, evidently to his benefit, for though he did not lose the sad tone in which he spoke, his voice was stronger, and his features seemed to grow less sharp. "And where have you been ever since the snow has been on the ground?" asked Edith, when he seemed a little revived. "You cannot surely have been wandering in the woods during the terribly severe weather we had in January." "I hutted myself down," he said, "like an Ingian or a beaver, and covered the lodge all over with snow. I planted it upon a ledge of rock, with its mouth close behind an old hemlock tree, and made it white all over, so they would have been worse than devils to find me; for life is sweet, Miss Prevost, even in winter time, and I did not wish to be tomahawked so long as I could help it." "You must have had a sad, desolate time, I fear," said Mr. Prevost; "at least till the spring came round." "I guess it wasn't very cheerful," answered Woodchuck; "but that's the best way to teach one's self not to care for what's coming. At least I used to think so once, and to believe that if a man could once make himself very miserable in this world he would not much care how soon he went out of it; but I've changed my opinion on that matter a little, for up there on the side of the hill, after four or five weeks, half famished, half frozen, I did not feel a bit more inclined to die than I did a year ago, when there were few lighter-hearted than myself. So I thought, before I did anything of the kind, knowing that there was no need of it just yet, I would just go and take a ramble among the mountains in the fine weather, like Jephtha's daughter." His words would have been enigmas to Edith, had she not somehow misunderstood their obvious meaning; for Lord H----, not fully knowing the character of the man, and unwilling to excite confident hope that might ultimately be disappointed by some change of Woodchuck's feelings, had foreborne to mention more of his purposes than the mere fact of his intention to peril his own life to save that of Walter Prevost. To Edith the words used by Woodchuck seemed but to imply that he still contemplated some daring attempt to set her brother at liberty; and in the hope, if she could learn the particulars of his scheme, to be able to procure the co-operation of Otaitsa and others in the Oneida Castle, she said: "You are indeed a good, kind friend, Woodchuck, and you have, I know, already undergone great risks for poor Walter's sake. There are others laboring for him, too, and perhaps if we knew what you intended to do next----" "To do next!" exclaimed the man, interrupting her. "Why, haven't I told you? I said when I found I could not get in from the west I made up my mind." "To do what, my good friend?" said Mr. Prevost. "You certainly implied you intended to do something, but what you did not state. Now, I easily understand Edith's anxiety to know your intentions, for we have obtained friends in the Oneida camp who might give great assistance to your efforts if we knew what they are to be. But I should tell you, my dear daughter here ventured across the Mohawk country to see our dear little Otaitsa, who, like you, risked her own life to save my poor boy--God's blessing be upon her!" The tears rose in his eyes, and he paused for a moment; but Woodchuck waved his hand, saying: "I know all about it. I were on the bank of the creek, Miss Edith, when the Ingian woman paddled you back, and I guessed how it had all been. I said to myself, when I heard more of it two days arter, 'Her father will be mighty angry,' and so he were, I guess." "You are mistaken, my friend," said Mr. Prevost, laying his hand on Edith's with a tender pressure. "I was not angry, though I was much alarmed; but that alarm was not of long endurance, for I was detained much longer than I expected at Sir William Johnson's, and my anxiety was only protracted two days after my return. But still you have not told us of your plans. If that dear girl, Otaitsa, can help us, she will do it if it cost her life!" Woodchuck paused a moment or two, in deep, absent thought, and over his rough countenance the trace of many a strong emotion flitted; but at length he said, in a low, distinct voice: "She can do nothing. Black Eagle has the boy under his keen eye. He loves him well, Mr. Prevost, and he will treat him kindly; but just as much as he does love him he will make it a point to keep him safely, and to kill him, too, if he ha'n't got another victim. That man should ha' been one of those old Romans I have heard talk of, who killed their own sons and daughters rather than not do what they thought right. He'd not spare his own flesh and blood--not he; and the more he loves him the surer he'll kill him!" Edith wept, and Mr. Prevost covered his eyes with his hands; but Woodchuck, who had been gazing down upon the table, and saw not the powerful emotions his words had produced, proceeded, after a gloomy pause: "He'll watch his daughter sharply, too, though they say he praised her daring; and that I guess he did, for that's just the sort of thing to strike his fancy. He'll take care she sha'n't do it again. No! no! There's but one way with Black Eagle. I know him well, and he knows me, and there is but one way with him." "What's that?" asked Mr. Prevost, in a tone of deep melancholy. "Just to do what I intend," replied Woodchuck, with a very calm manner. "Mr. Prevost, I love my life as much as any man--a little too much, mayhap, and I intend to keep it as long as I rightly can; for there are always things written in that chapter of accidents that none on us can see. But I don't intend to let your son Walter--he's a good boy--be put to death for a thing of my doing. You don't suppose it? At first, when the thing came fresh upon me at Albany, I felt mighty like a fool and a coward, and I would ha' skulked away into any hole, just to save myself from myself. But I soon took thought, and made up my mind. Now, here you and Miss Edith have been praising and thanking me for trying to save poor Walter's life. I didn't deserve no praise, no thanks, either. It was my own life I was trying to save; for if I could get him out secretly we should both be secure enough; but I've given it up. It can't be done; and Black Eagle knows it. He knows me, too, and he's just as sure at this blessed moment that before the day he has appointed for Walter to die, Woodchuck will walk in and say, 'Here I am!' as he is that he's in his own lodge. Then he will have got the right man, and all will be settled. Now, Mr. Prevost, and you, Miss Edith, you know what I intend to do. To-morrow, when I'm a bit rested, I shall set out again and take my ramble in the mountains like Jephtha's daughter, as I said. Then this day month I will be here again to bid you all good-bye. Walter will have to tell you the rest. Don't cry so, there's a good girl. You're like to set me a-crying, too. There's one thing more I have to ask you both, and that is: Never speak another word to me about this matter--not even when I come back again. I try not to think of it at all myself, and I don't much now. If I can screw myself up like those Ingians, I shall just walk quietly in among them as if nothing were going to happen, and say, 'Set the boy free; here's Woodchuck himself,' and then die--not like an Indian, but like a Christian, I trust, and one that knows he's a-doing of his duty, anyhow. So now not a word more--and let's talk of something else." Woodchuck steadily and sturdily refused to pursue any further the subject of his fixed determination, although both Mr. Prevost and Edith, deeply touched, and, to say the truth, much agitated, would fain have dwelt upon the topic longer. Edith felt, and Mr. Prevost argued in his own mind, that the poor man was performing a generous and self-devoted act, which no moral obligation forced upon him. They felt, too, that so noble a heart was not one which ought to be sacrificed to the vengeful spirit of the Indians; and the natural feeling of joy and satisfaction which they experienced at the apparent certainty of Walter's deliverance from death seemed to them almost a crime, when it was to be purchased at so dear a price. His obstinacy, however, conquered; the subject was changed; and as they sat together in the little room to which he had led the way, they continued a broken sort of conversation, while the shades of evening gathered thick round them, upon topics connected with that which they had quitted, though avoiding the point which was most painfully prominent in the mind of each. "They are a savage set," he would say, "and the devil himself has a share in them. I have heard people talk much of their generosity, and all that, but I guess I've not seen much of it." Mr. Prevost was silent, for his feelings had suffered a natural change toward the Indians; but Edith exclaimed, "We cannot say that of dear Otaitsa, at all events, Woodchuck; for she surely has a heart full of generosity, and everything that is noble." "That's not raal, that's not raal," answered Woodchuck. "That comes of the blood that's in her. For that matter, Black Eagle has some fine things about him. He's the best of them I ever saw. We used to say, 'Whole Ingian, half devil.' I think in his case it must have been quarter devil, and that's saying a good deal for so fierce a man as he in battle. They say he has scalped more enemies than all his tribe put together, specially in that war down upon the Pennsylvania side some nineteen years ago, when some of our people foolishly took part with the Mohagans." Mr. Prevost started, and Woodchuck went on, saying: "He has good things, for he always makes his people spare the women and children; which is what them Ingians seldom think of. A scalp's a scalp to them, whether it has got long hair on it or only a scalp-lock. But, as I was saying, the Blossom has got all that is good in him, and all that was good in her mother, poor thing; and that was a mighty great deal." "I have often wished," said Mr. Prevost, "that I could hear something of Otaitsa's history. Her mother, I believe, was a white woman, and I have more than once tried, when I found the Black Eagle in a communicative mood, to lead him to speak upon the subject; but the moment it was touched upon he would wrap his blanket round him and stalk away." "Aye! he has never forgotten her," said Woodchuck. "He never took another wife, you know; and well he may remember her, for she was his better angel, and ruled him completely, which was what no one else could. But I can tell you all about it, if you like to know, for I heard it all from an old squaw, one time; and I saw the lady once, too, myself, and talked to her." "I think," said Edith, thoughtfully, "that she must have been a lady; for when I was in their lodge, I saw, in Otaitsa's little chamber, a great number of things of European manufacture and of high taste." "May not those have been procured for the dear girl by our good friend Gore?" asked Mr. Prevost. "He is a man of much taste himself." "I think not," answered Edith. "They are evidently old, and seemed to have belonged to one person; besides, there are a number of drawings, all evidently done by one hand--not what anyone would purchase, and apparently by an amateur rather than an artist." Mr. Prevost fell into a fit of thought, and leaned his head upon his hand, but Woodchuck replied: "Oh, they are her mother's, beyond doubt; they are her mother's. She was quite a lady, every inch of her; you could hear it in the tone of her voice, you could see it in her walk. Her words, too, were those of a lady; and her hand, too, was so small and delicate it could never have seen work. Do you know, Miss Edith, she was wonderfully like you--more like you than Otaitsa. But I'll tell you all about it, just as I heard it from the old squaw. At the time I talk of--that's a good many years ago--eighteen, or nineteen, maybe--Black Eagle was the handsomest man that had ever been seen in the tribes, they say, and the fiercest warrior, too. He was always ready to take part in any war, and whenever fighting was going on he was there. Well, the Delawares had not been quite brought under at that time by the Five Nations, and he went down with his warriors and the Mohawks, to fight against the Mohagans; they were Delawares, too, you know, somewhere on the Monongahela River, just at the corner of Pennsylvania and Virginny. Our people had given some help to the Mohagans, and they were, at that time, just laying the foundations of a fort, which the French got hold of afterward and called Fort, du Quesne. Well, there was an old general officer who thought he would go up and see how the works were going on, and as things were quiet enough just then--though it; was but a calm before a storm--he took his daughter with him, and journeyed away pleasantly enough, through the woods. I dare say, though, it must have been slow work, for as he intended to stay all the summer, the old man took a world of baggage with him; but the third or fourth night after leaving the civilized parts they lodged in an Indian village, when, all in a minute, just as they were going to bed, down comes Black Eagle upon them with his warriors. There was a dreadful fight in the village, nothing but screams, and war-whoops, and rifle shots; and the Mohagans, poor devils, were almost put out that night; for they were taken unawares, and they do say not a man escaped alive out of the wigwam. At the first fire out rushes the old general from the hut, and at the same minute a rifle ball, perhaps from a friend, perhaps from an enemy--no one can tell--goes right through his heart. Black Eagle was collecting scalps all this time, but when he turned round, or came back, or however it might be, there he found the poor young lady, the officer's daughter, crying over her father. Well, he wouldn't suffer them to hurt her, but took her away to the Oneida country with him, and gathered up all her goods and chattels, and her father's, and carried that off, too; but all for her, for it seems he fell in love with her at first sight. What made her first like him, they say, was that he wouldn't let the savages scalp the old man, telling them that the English were allies, and declaring that the ball that killed him did not come from an Oneida rifle. However that may be, the poor girl had no choice but to marry Black Eagle, though the old woman said that, being a great chief's daughter, she made him promise never to have another wife, and, if ever a Christian priest came there, to be married to her according to her own fashion." While he spoke Mr. Prevost had remained apparently buried in deep and very gloomy thought, but he had heard every word, and his mind had more than once wandered wide away, as was its wont, to collateral things, not only in the present but in the past. When Woodchuck stopped he raised his head and gazed at him for a moment in the face, with a look of earnest and melancholy inquiry. "Did you ever hear her name?" he asked. "Can you tell me her father's name?" "No," replied Woodchuck. "I had the history almost all from the old squaw, and if she had tried to give me an English name she would have manufactured something, such as never found its way into an English mouth. All she told me was that the father was a great chief among the English, by which I made out that she meant a general." "Probably it was her father's portrait I saw at the Indian Castle," said Edith. "In Otaitsa's room there was a picture that struck me more than any of the others, except, indeed, the portrait of a lady. It was that of a man in a military dress of antique cut. His hand was stretched out, with his drawn sword in it, and he was looking round with a commanding air, as if telling his soldiers to follow. I marked it particularly at first, because the sun was shining on it, and because the frame was covered with the most beautiful Indian beadwork I ever saw. That of the lady, too, was similarly ornamented; but there was another interested me much--a small pencil drawing of a young man's head, so like Walter that at first I almost fancied dear Otaitsa had been trying to make his portrait from memory." "Would you remember the old man's face, my child, if you saw it again?" asked Mr. Prevost, gazing earnestly at his daughter. "I think so," said Edith, a little confused by her father's earnestness; "I am quite sure I should." "Wait, then, a moment," said Mr. Prevost, "and call for lights, my child." As he spoke he rose and quitted the room; but he was several minutes gone, and lights were burning in the chamber when he returned. He was burdened with several pictures of small size, which he spread out upon the table, while Edith and Woodchuck both rose to gaze at them. "There! there!" cried Edith, putting her finger upon one, "there is the head of the old officer, though the attitude is different; and there is the lady, too; but I do not see the portrait of the young man!" "Edith," said her father, laying his hand affectionately upon hers, and shaking his head sadly, "he is no longer young, but he stands beside you, my child. That is the picture of my father; that, of my mother. Otaitsa must be your cousin. Poor Jessie! We have always thought her dead, although her body was not found with that of her father. Better had she been dead, probably." "No, no, Prevost!" said Woodchuck. "Not a bit of it! Black Eagle made her as kind a husband as ever was seen. You might have looked all Europe and America through, and not have found as good a one. Then think of all she did, too, in the place where she was. God sent her there to make better people than she found. From the time she went, to the time she died, poor thing! there was no more war and bloodshed, or very little of it. Then she got a Christian minister amongst them--at least, he never would have been suffered to set his foot there if she had not been Black Eagle's wife. It is a hard thing to tell what's really good, and what's really evil, in this world. For my part, I think, if everything is not exactly good--which very few of us would like to say it is--yet good comes out of it; like a flower growing out of a dunghill; and there's no saying what good to the end of time this lady's going there may produce. Bad enough it was for her, I dare say, at first; but she got reconciled to it; so you mustn't say it would have been better if she had died." "It is strange, indeed," said Mr. Prevost, "what turns human fate will take. That she, brought up in the midst of luxury, educated with the utmost refinement, sought and admired by all who knew her, should reject two of the most distinguished men in Europe to go to this wild land and marry an Indian savage! Men talk of fate and destiny, and there are certainly strange turns of fortune, so beyond all human calculation and regulation that the doctrine of the fatalist seems true." "Do you not think, my dear father," said Edith, waking up from a profound reverie, "that this strange discovery might be turned to some great advantage; that Walter, perhaps, might be saved without the necessity of our poor friend here sacrificing his own life to deliver him?" "That's like a dear, good girl," said Woodchuck; "but I can tell you, it's no use." "But," urged Edith, "Otaitsa ought to know, for Black Eagle certainly would never slay the nephew of a wife so dear to him." "It's no use," repeated Woodchuck, almost impatiently. "Don't you know, Miss Edith, that Walter and the Blossom are in love with each other, and that's worth all the blood relationship in the world. Sometimes it does not last as long, but while it does it's twice as strong. Then, as to Black Eagle, he'd kill his own son, if the customs of his people required it. I guess it would only make him tomahawk poor Walter the sooner, just to show that he would not let any human feeling stand in the way of their devilish practice. No! no! Much better keep it quiet. It might do harm, for aught we can tell; it can and will do no good. Let that thing rest, my dear child. It's settled and decreed. I am ready now, and I shall never be so ready again. Let me take one more look at my mountains, and my lakes, and my rivers, and my woods, and I've done with this life. Then God, in His mercy, receive me into another. Amen. Hark! There is someone coming up at a good gallop. That noble young lord, I dare say." It was as Woodchuck had supposed; and the moment after, Lord H---- entered the room with a beaming look of joy and satisfaction in his countenance. He held a packet of considerable size in his hand, and advanced at once to Mr. Prevost, saying: "My dear sir, I am rejoiced to present to you this letter, not alone because it will give you some satisfaction, but because it removes the stain of ingratitude from the country. His Majesty's present ministers are sensible that you have not received justice; that your long services to the country in various ways--all that you have done, in short, to benefit and ameliorate your race, and to advocate all that is good and noble--have been treated with long neglect, which amounts to an offence; and they now offer, as some atonement, a position which may lead to wealth, and a distinction which, I trust, is but the step to more." "What is it, George? What is it?" asked Edith, eagerly. "It is, I am told," replied Lord H----, "in a letter which accompanies the packet; a commission as commissary general of the army here, and an offer of the rank of baronet." "Thank God!" said Edith; and then, seeing a look of surprise at her earnestness come upon her noble lover's face, a bright smile played round her lips for a moment, and she added: "I say thank God, George--not that I am glad my father should have such things, for I hope and trust he will decline them both; but the very offer will heal an old wound, by showing him that zealous exertions and the exercise of high and noble qualities are not always to be treated with neglect, forgetfulness, and contempt. He will be glad of it, I am sure, whatever his decision may be." "Now I understand you, my own love," answered Lord H----. "With regard to the baronetcy, he shall do as he will; but I must press him earnestly to accept the office tendered to him. To decline it might show some resentment. By accepting it he incurs no peril, and he serves his country; for from his knowledge of the people here, of the very physical features of the land and its resources, and of the habits and feelings of all classes, I believe no man could be found, with one or two exceptions, so well fitted for the task as himself---- Ah! my good friend Captain Brooks, how do you do? I have much wished to see you lately, and to hear of your plans." "I am as well as may be, my lord," replied Woodchuck, wringing in his heavy grasp the hand which Lord H---- extended to him. "As for my plans, they are the same as ever; you did not doubt me, I am sure." "I did not," replied Lord H----, gravely, and looking down, he fell into a fit of thought. At length, looking up, he added: "And yet, my good friend, I am glad you have had time for reflection, for since we last met I have somewhat reproached myself for at least tacit encouragement of an act, in the approval of which so many personal motives mingle that one may well doubt one's self. Forgive me, Edith--forgive me, Mr. Prevost, if I ask our friend here if he has well considered, and weighed in his own mind, calmly and reasonably, without bias, nay, without enthusiasm, whether there be any moral obligation on him to perform an act which I suppose he has told you he contemplated." "There is no forgiveness needed, my lord," said Mr. Prevost. "I would have put the same question to him if he would have let me. Nay, more; I would have told him, whatever I might suffer by the result, that in my judgment there was no moral obligation. Because he did a justifiable act these Indians commit one that is unjustifiable, upon an innocent man. That can be no reason why he should sacrifice his life to save the other. God forbid, that even for the love of my own child, I should deal in such a matter unjustly. I am no Roman father--I pretend not to be such. If my own death will satisfy them, let them take the old tree, withered at the root, and spare the sapling, full of strength and promise; but let me not doom--let me not advise a noble and an honest man to sacrifice himself from a too generous impulse." "I do not know much of moral obligations," replied Woodchuck, gravely, "but I guess I have thought over the thing as much as e'er one of you. I have made up my mind, and just on one principle, and there let it rest, in God's name! I say to myself, 'Woodchuck, it's not right, is it, that anyone should suffer for what you ha' done?' 'No, it's not.' 'Well, is there any use talking of whether they've a right to make him suffer for your act or not? They'll do it.' 'No, there's no use a-talking, because they'll do it. It's only shuffling off the consequences of what you did upon another man's shoulders. You never did that, Woodchuck; don't do it now. Man might say, it's all fair; God might pardon it, but your own heart would never forgive it!'" Edith sprang forward and took both his hands, with her beautiful eyes full of tears. "God will prevent it!" she said, earnestly. "I have faith in Him. He will deliver in our utmost need! He provided the Patriarch with an offering, and spared his son. He will find us a means of escape if we but trust in Him." "Miss Edith," replied Woodchuck, gravely, "He may or He may not, according to His own good pleasure; but of this I am sure, that though Christ died for our transgressions, we have no right to see anyone else suffer for our doings. I have read my Bible a great deal up there on the hillside lately--more than I ever did before since I was a little boy--and I am quite certain of what I'm about. It has been a comfort and a strength to me. It's all so clear--so very clear. Other books one may not understand--one can't misunderstand that unless one tries very hard. And now, pray, let's have an end on't here. My mind is quite made up. There's no use of saying a word more." All the rest were silent, and Edith left the room with the large tears rolling over her cheeks. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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