intriguer to broach abruptly the
subject which, most absorbed his thoughts, and which had made him seek
this interview, and when at last he spoke, Mamalis was at a loss to
guess what there was in the commonplaces which he used, that could be of
interest to him. But the wily hypocrite led her on step by step, until
gradually and almost unconsciously to herself he had fully developed his
wishes.

"You live here altogether, now, do you not?" he asked, kindly.

"Yes."

"Are they kind to you?"

"Oh yes, they are kind to all."

"And you are happy?"

"Yes, as happy as those can be who are left alone on earth."

"What! are there none of your family now living?"

"No, no!" she replied, bitterly; "the blood of Powhatan now runs in this
narrow channel," and she held out her graceful arms, as she spoke, with
an expressive gesture.

"Alas! I pity you," said Bernard, sighing. "We are alike in this--for my
blood is reduced to as narrow a channel as your own. But your family was
very numerous?"

"Yes, numerous as those stars--and bright and beautiful as they."

"Judging from the only Pleiad that remains," thought Bernard, "you may
well say so--and can you," he added, aloud, "forgive those who have thus
injured you?"

"Forgive, oh yes, or how shall I be forgiven! Look at those stars! They
shine the glory of the night. They vanish before the sun of the morning.
So faded my people before the arms of the white man--and yet I can
freely forgive them all!"

"What, even those who have quenched those stars!" said Bernard, with a
sinister meaning in his tone.

"You mistake," replied Mamalis, touchingly. "They are not quenched. The
stars we see to-night, though unseen on the morrow, are still in
heaven."

"Nay, Mamalis," said Bernard, "the creed of your fathers taught not
thus. I thought the Indian maxim was that blood alone could wipe out the
stain of blood."

"I love the Christian lesson better," said Mamalis, softly. "And you,
Mr. Bernard, should not try to shake my new born faith. 'Love your
enemies--bless them that curse you--pray for them that despitefully use
you and persecute you--that you may be the children of your Father which
is in heaven.' The orphan girl on earth would love to be the child of
her father in heaven."

The sweet simplicity with which the poor girl thus referred to the
precepts and promises of her new religion, derived more touching beauty
from the broken English with which she expressed them.