th his daughters might bring the aged man to his grave, and where
would then be the satisfaction of Le Renard?"

"Listen," said the Indian again. "The light eyes can go back to the
Horican, and tell the old chief what has been done, if the dark-haired
woman will swear by the Great Spirit of her fathers to tell no lie."

"What must I promise?" demanded Cora, still maintaining a secret
ascendancy over the fierce native by the collected and feminine dignity
of her presence.

"When Magua left his people his wife was given to another chief; he has
now made friends with the Hurons, and will go back to the graves of his
tribe, on the shores of the great lake. Let the daughter of the English
chief follow, and live in his wigwam forever."

However revolting a proposal of such a character might prove to
Cora, she retained, notwithstanding her powerful disgust, sufficient
self-command to reply, without betraying the weakness.

"And what pleasure would Magua find in sharing his cabin with a wife he
did not love; one who would be of a nation and color different from his
own? It would be better to take the gold of Munro, and buy the heart of
some Huron maid with his gifts."

The Indian made no reply for near a minute, but bent his fierce looks
on the countenance of Cora, in such wavering glances, that her eyes
sank with shame, under an impression that for the first time they had
encountered an expression that no chaste female might endure. While she
was shrinking within herself, in dread of having her ears wounded by
some proposal still more shocking than the last, the voice of Magua
answered, in its tones of deepest malignancy:

"When the blows scorched the back of the Huron, he would know where to
find a woman to feel the smart. The daughter of Munro would draw his
water, hoe his corn, and cook his venison. The body of the gray-head
would sleep among his cannon, but his heart would lie within reach of
the knife of Le Subtil."

"Monster! well dost thou deserve thy treacherous name," cried Cora, in
an ungovernable burst of filial indignation. "None but a fiend could
meditate such a vengeance. But thou overratest thy power! You shall find
it is, in truth, the heart of Munro you hold, and that it will defy your
utmost malice!"

The Indian answered this bold defiance by a ghastly smile, that showed
an unaltered purpose, while he motioned her away, as if to close the
conference forever. Cora, already regretting her precipitatio