Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms wrapped up in their blankets,

Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat and repeated

Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of her Indian accent,

All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and pains, and reverses.

Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know that another

Hapless heart like her own had loved and had been disappointed.

Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and woman's compassion,

Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had suffered was near her,

She in turn related her love and all its disasters.

Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when she had

ended

Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysterious horror

Passed through her brain, she spake, and repeated the tale of the Mowis;

Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and wedded a maiden,

But, when the morning came, arose and passed from the wigwam,

Fading and melting away and dissolving into the sun

shine,

Till she beheld him no more, though she followed far into the forest.

Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed like a weird incantation,

Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was wooed by a phantom,

That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, in the hush of the twilight,

Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered love to the maiden,

Till she followed his green and waving plume through the forest,

And never more returned, nor was seen again by her

people.

Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evangeline listened

To the soft flow of her magical words, till the region around her

Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy guest the enchantress.

Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the moon

rose,

Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious splendour Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and filling the woodland

With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and the branches

Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible whispers.

Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's heart, but a secret,

Subtle sense crept in of pain and indefinite terror, As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest of the swallow.

It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region of spirits Seemed to float in the air of night; and she felt for a

moment

That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pursuing a phantom.

And with this thought she slept, and the fear and the phantom had vanished.

Early upon the morrow the march was resumed, and the Shawnee

Said, as they journeyed along,-"On the western slope of these mountains

Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief of the Mission.

Much he teaches the people, and tells them of Mary and Jesus;

Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with pain as they hear him."

Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evangeline answered,

"Let us go to the Mission, for there good tidings await us!"

Thither they turned their steeds; and behind a spur of the mountains,

Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur of

voices,

And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank of a

river,

Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the Jesuit

Mission.

Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of the

village,

Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. A crucifix fastened

High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed by grape-vines,

Looked with its agonized face on the multitude keeeling beneath it.

This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the intricate arches

Of its aërial roof, arose the chant of their vespers, Mingling its notes with the 'soft susurrus and sighs of the branches.

Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, nearer

approaching,

Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the evening devotions.

But when the service was done, and the benediction had fallen

Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from the hands of the sower,

Slowly the reverend man advanced to the strangers, and bade them

Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled with benignant expression,

Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother-tongue in the forest,

And with words of kindness conducted them into his

wigwam.

There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on cakes of the maize ear

Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water-gourd of the teacher.

Soon was their story told; and the priest with solemnity answered:

"Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, seated On this mat by my side, where now the maiden reposes, Told me the same sad tale; then arose and continued

his journey.

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake with an accent of kindness;

But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in winter the snow flakes

Fall into some lone nest from which the birds have

departed.

"Far to the north he hath gone," continued the priest; "but in autumn,

When the chase is done, will return again to the Mission."

Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek and

submissive,

"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad and afflicted."

So seemed it wise and well unto all; and betimes on the morrow,

Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian guides and companions,

Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed at the Mission.

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded each other, Days and weeks and months; and the fields of maize that were springing

Green from the ground when a stranger she came, now waving above her,

Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, and

forming

Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pillaged by squirrels.

Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, and the maidens

Blushed at each blood-red ear; for that betokened a lover, But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief in the cornfield.

Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought not her lover.

"Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, and thy prayer will be answered!

Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from the meadow,

See how its leaves are turned to the north, as true as the magnet;

This is the compass-flower, that the finger of God has planted