le. That might initiate a conversation; and
cause her to interpret more kindly my apparent rudeness. I shall speak
to her at all hazards. Su-wa-nee!" The dark Indian eye was raised upon
me with an angry flash; but no other reply was vouchsafed. "Su-wa-nee!"
I repeated in the most conciliatory tone. "Do you not remember me? I
am the friend of the White Eagle."

"And what is that to Su-wa-nee? She has no words for you--you may go
on!"

This decided repulse, instead of bettering my position, rendered it
still more complicated. Somewhat confusedly, I rejoined: "I am on the
way to visit the White Eagle. I thought--perhaps--you might--that
possibly you might have some message for him."

"Su-wa-nee has no message for the White Eagle!" replied she,
interrupting me, in the indignant tone, and with a contemptuous toss of
her head. "If she had, she would not choose a false pale-face, like
himself, to be its bearer. You fancy, white man, you can insult the
Indian maiden at your pleasure? You dare not take such liberty with one
of your own colour?"

"I assure you I had no such intention: my object was very different. I
was prompted to speak to you, knowing something of your affair of the
other night with my friend Wingrove--which you remember I was witness
of. I could not help overhearing--"

I was interrupted by another quick contemptuous exclamation, that
accompanied a glance of mingled vexation and scorn:--"You may know too
much, and too little, my brave slayer of red panthers! Su-wa-nee does
not thank you for interfering in her affairs. She can promise you
sufficient occupation with your _own_. Go! See to them!"

"How? What mean you?" I hurriedly asked, perceiving a certain
significance in her looks, as well as words, that produced within me a
sudden feeling of inquietude. "What mean you?" I repeated, too anxious
to wait her reply; "has anything happened?"

"Go, see yourself! You lose time in talking to a _squaw_, as you call
us. Haste! or your bell-flower will be plucked and crushed, like that
which you wear so proudly upon your breast. The wolf has slept in the
lair of the forest deer: the yellow fawn will be his victim! Su-wa-nee
joys at it: ha, ha, ha! Hers will not be the only heart wrung by the
villainy of the false pale-face. Ha, ha, ha! Go, brave slayer of red
panthers! Ah! you may go, but only to grieve: you will be too late--too
late--too late!"

Finishing her speech with anothe