noble warrior who stood at her side.

"Dost thou love me?" she faintly asked.

"Does the dove love his little mate? does the spring bud love the beams
of the sun? does a mother love her first-born? does a warrior love the
shout of a foe? I love thee more than words can express; let my actions
show the deep affection I bear thee. The Swift Foot will make thee the
wife of his bosom."

"Dost thou know who it is that thou wouldst wed?"

"A Spirit."

"Dost thou know that when thou shalt take me to thy bosom thou wilt
embrace a form of ice? Thou art warm and impassioned, I chilled and
chilling as the winds of winter, and frozen as the ice of the bleak
Coppermine."

"Still will I dare the union. My love shall kindle in thy bosom a
warmth equal to that which possesses mine own."

"My breath is the breath of the northern blast."

"And mine hath the warmth of the breeze which blows in summer from the
land of never-failing verdure. Wilt thou, beautiful Spirit! be the wife
of a Teton, who has more scalps in his lodge than fingers on his hands,
who has struck dead bodies of six different nations, and stolen half the
horses upon which his brother warriors ride to the combat?"

"I will--I am thine, brave warrior!"

"Thou art indeed cold, beautiful Spirit!" said the Teton, as he pressed
the consenting maiden to his bosom for a moment, and then, shuddering
with an icy chill, his teeth shaking like the rattles of a snake, put
her from him. "But thou art mine, though it were death to embrace thee."

Again, summoning all his resolution, he held her to his heart. Then
calling the women to him, the warrior bade them prepare a bridal feast.
The youth and the maiden then went through the Indian form of marriage,
and the beautiful spirit of the Laud of Snows became the wife of the
Teton warrior.

With the sun of the next day the whole tribe gathered around the bridal
cabin, eager to learn if the Spirit of the North still remained to
bless the arms of her husband. Soon she appeared with her beloved Teton.
But oh how changed! Her cheek and neck were now suffused with blushes as
deep as those which stain the cheeks of mortal maidens; her hair had
changed from a snowy whiteness to a glossy brown: she had become to all
appearance a beautiful mortal. Ever and anon her eyes were fondly turned
on the Swift Foot, who repaid her fond glances by pressing her _now_
warm and ardent bosom to his own. The aged Nicanape again approached the
pair