blanket fell in graceful folds from his shoulders, around his person,
and he stretched out a hand to solicit attention.

"Listen," he said; "the tongue of Ohquamehud is one: it will speak the
truth. Because the Great Spirit loved his children, he made them to
love and to hate, and both are pleasant. The south wind is sweet when
it comes in spring to tell that winter is past and the starved Indian
need no longer shiver over the fire; and sweet are the kisses of
Wullogana to Ohquamehud, and dear are the voices of his little ones
when they meet him from the chase, but sweeter than the sighs of the
wind of spring, or the caresses of Wullogana, or the laughter of
his children, is it to strike an enemy. His flesh is good, for it
strengthens a red heart. The wolf will never become a lamb, and the
wolf is the totem of my clan. Ohquamehud has said."

It would be impossible to describe the conflicting emotions of Holden
during this savage speech. Whatever might have been the wild incidents
of his youth, or whatever his wrongs and sufferings, the time was long
past, and he had supposed all stormy passion subdued, and his heart
chastised to resignation and submission. He listened at first with
unmixed horror to the Indian's declaration, but as the savage went on,
the words became more and more indistinct, till they lost all meaning
or were converted into other sounds, and, as in a dream, made the
aliment of his thoughts. The whole conversation, and the very language
in which they spoke, contributed to produce this state of mind. Lost
to all around, his soul was far away. He saw a cabin beside a mountain
torrent, overshadowed by immense trees. It was summer, and the birds
were singing among the branches. The door of the cabin opened, and a
young and beautiful white woman stepped out, holding a child by the
hand. Suddenly it was night, and the cabin on fire, and he heard the