ke him," sententiously returned the Delaware. "Too still. So
still, can see silence!"

"That's downright Injin--as if any thing could make less noise than
nothing! If you've no better reason than this to give, old Tom had
better hoist his sail, and go and get his breakfast under his own roof.
What has become of the moccasin?"

"Here," returned Chingachgook, holding up his prize for the general
inspection. The moccasin was examined, and Hist confidently pronounced
it to be Huron, by the manner in which the porcupine's quills were
arranged on its front. Hutter and the Delaware, too, were decidedly of
the same opinion. Admitting all this, however, it did not necessarily
follow that its owners were in the castle. The moccasin might have
drifted from a distance, or it might have fallen from the foot of some
scout, who had quitted the place when his errand was accomplished. In
short it explained nothing, while it awakened so much distrust.

Under the circumstances, Hutter and Hurry were not men to be long
deterred from proceeding by proofs as slight as that of the moccasin.
They hoisted the sail again, and the Ark was soon in motion, heading
towards the castle. The wind or air continued light, and the movement
was sufficiently slow to allow of a deliberate survey of the building,
as the scow approached. The same death-like silence reigned, and it was
difficult to fancy that any thing possessing animal life could be in
or around the place. Unlike the Serpent, whose imagination had acted
through his traditions until he was ready to perceive an artificial,
in a natural stillness, the others saw nothing to apprehend in a
tranquility that, in truth, merely denoted the repose of inanimate
objects. The accessories of the scene, too, were soothing and calm,
rather than exciting. The day had not yet advanced so far as to bring
the sun above the horizon, but the heavens, the atmosphere, and the
woods and lake were all seen under that softened light which immediately
precedes his appearance, and which perhaps is the most witching period
of the four and twenty hours. It is the moment when every thing is
distinct, even the atmosphere seeming to possess a liquid lucidity, the
hues appearing gray and softened, with the outlines of objects defined,
and the perspective just as moral truths that are presented in their
simplicity, without the meretricious aids of ornament or glitter. In a
word, it is the moment when the senses seem to recover