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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
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