THE FLORIDA POCAHONTAS. 113 



" ' He can trouble me no more than a few hours if he stays.' 



" ' You refuse me this, and you will be my enemy.' 



"' I am your enemy now,' said the warrior gloomily. 



" ' No, Chatte Echo ; you are my friend,' whispered the Indian 

 woman, in her lowest tone, laying her arm on his shoulder. 



" The chief's voice trembled, as he replied : ' Where will be 

 your friendship when you get your lover back V 



" ' Ha ! he is no lover to me !' said the woman, in her quick, 

 fierce mood. ' Listen, boy ; that brave is a wolf — yet he must not 

 die — I do not love him — he is no more of mine — let him go, and 

 he will flee, and — Chatte Echo, I will love you. Eefuse me this, 

 and I will hate you. No one will know it — he will take that canoe, 

 and go without a trace, and the dawn will find him leagues away. 

 Say it quickly, chief ; for the air is grey, and the gulls are going 

 seaward.' 



" There was a hesitation in the warrior's eye, and doubt and 

 hope, love and hate, chased each other over his tawny face like 

 the fog-clouds that were scudding by. 



" How will I know your face will be the same to-morrow ? ' he 

 inquired doubtingly ; ' the doe may flee with the buck.' 



" ' Keep me here — take me now — I am yours, Chatte Echo ! ' 



" The wild light lit up the coal-black eyes of the brave, and 

 the prisoner was free. Ortez silently hurried out of his cell, and 

 stepped on the low rampart, saved once more. He saw his wife, 

 and recognised her as the means of his deliverance, and, with the 

 quick perception of a reckless adventurer, accepted the chance 

 without a word. He stood in the canoe, with the paddle in his 

 hand, and awaited, as for his wife to enter with him, while the 

 young chief stood by her side at the water's edge. She leaned 

 down to speak to her husband, and her voice, necessarily law, was 

 so distinct that not a word was lost. 



" ' Sail south to Macaco's land in the Great Bay — stop not for 

 your life, and tell Macaco who sent you.' Then, in a lower and a 

 harsher tone, she continued : ' The canoe you are in carried your 

 mistress to see you at the grave last night. She is dead now — 

 stabbed while her lips were yet wet with your kisses. Go, hound 

 of a Spaniard, or I may stab you too.' The last words were fairly 



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