ll house which she had learned was
appropriated as the prison of Berkenhead. Turning the key softly in the
lock, she pulled the latch-string and gently opened the door. A flood of
moonlight streamed upon the floor, encumbered with a variety of
plantation utensils. By the aid of this light Mamalis soon recognized
the form and features of the fated Berkenhead, who was sleeping in one
corner of the room. She knelt over him and feasted her eyes with the
anticipation of her deep revenge. Fearing to be defeated in her design,
for with her it was the foiled attempt and "not the act which might
confound," she bared his bosom and sought his heart. The motion startled
the sleeping soldier. "The devil," he said, half opening his eyes; "its
damned light." Just as he pronounced the last word the fatal dagger of
Mamalis found its way into his heart. "It is all dark now," she said,
bitterly, and rising from her victim, she glided through the door and
left him with his God.

With the native shrewdness of her race, Mamalis did not forget that she
had still to play a part, and so without returning directly to the
house, she repaired to the well and filled her pitcher. She even offered
the sentinel a drink as she repassed him on her return, and promising
once more to come back, when she had carried the water to the "sick
maiden," she stole quietly into the room occupied by Bernard, replaced
the key in his pocket as before, and hastened up stairs again.

And there seated once more by the bedside of the sleeping Virginia, the
young Indian girl sang, in a low voice, at once her song of triumph and
her brother's dirge, in that rich oriental improvisation for which the
Indians were so remarkable. We will not pretend to give in the original
words of this beautiful requiem, but furnish the reader, in default of a
better, with the following free translation, which may give some faint
idea of its beauty:--

"They have plucked the flower from the garden of my heart, and have torn
the soil where it tenderly grew. He was bright and beautiful as the
bounding deer, and the shaft from his bow was as true as his unchanging
soul! Rest with the Great Spirit, soul of my brother!

"The Great Spirit looked down in pity on my brother; Manitou has
snatched him from the hands of the dreadful Okee. On the shores of the
spirit-land, with the warriors of his tribe he sings the song of his
glory, and chases the spirit deer over the immaterial plains! Rest with
t