lifetime, to contribute to the support of those who were dependent upon the vanquished. The words were enunciated distinctly, then, with lightning-like rapidity, he encircled his head, once, twice, thrice, with his tomahawk and hurled it at a tree trunk, into which it sank, and the fight was on. Simultaneously with the thud of the tomahawk, with knives drawn, with quickened breath and set lips, with nostrils distended and eyes scintillating, the mortal foes, quivering in every limb with convulsions of hate that were consuming both, with the impetus of a whirlwind rushed upon each other. As the waves are thrown back from the oceanbound rock, each in turn was hurled away from the other, neither uttering a sound, but each fighting with desperate valour and ferocity, now striking, thrusting, lunging, fencing, sparring and parrying, they fought with the fury of demons, each in turn driving and being driven. So terrible was the battle that it seemed as if, in one dread moment, the peaceful vale had been transformed into a heathen temple of sacrifice. It was soon apparent, from the sanguinary pace set, that the battle would be short. Blood was flowing freely from both contestants, but neither had reached a vital spot. Ere long it was seen that Mandush began to flag, and was more on the defensive, being older, heavier, and less agile than the sinewy and more cat-like To-cus, who, ever alert, avoided his adversary's dangerous onsets with adroit cleverness. Meanwhile Mandush received a slash across the forehead from which the blood flowed freely, crimsoning his visage and obstructing his vision. In this unfortunate condition he was at the mercy of his merciless foe, who, seizing the advantage, reached the throat of his adversary, severing the neck to the bone, and then, with a fierce yell of exultation, he plunged the knife to the hilt, and wrenching it from right to left, nearly disembowelled his victim. The hapless Mandush sank down, and ere the thirsty earth had drunk his life-blood the deathsong had died upon his lips, the warlike soul had embarked in the mystic, white canoe to cross the fathomless, trackless sea for the shore of the spirit land. CHAPTER XI 'A BOW WITH TWO STRINGS "The air is full of hints of grief, HE late June roses were rocking in the balmy evening breeze, the full moon was rising from beneath the silvery waters, lighting up the Isle of Wight with its calm, white sheen, the insect voices and the lonely call of the whip-poor-will mingled with the wash of the waves upon the shore, and tempted by the exceeding beauty of the night Damaris Gordon strolled down the path leading to the grove of elm and maple skirting the bluff above the beach. Swiftly time had glided by, and twice each week Guy Kingsland had rowed over to Montauk, upon each occasion meeting with the beautiful Indian girl whose heart he had won-for what? In his inmost soul he knew that the passion she had inspired was of the earth earthy, and as evanescent as the scores of flirtations in which he had engaged during his youth and young manhood, and already he was tiring of the pursuit; the object he had sought with such ardour he desired no longer, for, with the true purity that had been taught her by precept and example, he found, to his chagrin, that her honour was greater than even her love, and that a marriage-ceremony by the rites of her people was the only means through which he might claim her. Had she been the daughter of an obscure member of the tribe small ceremony would have been required, and the farce of a marriage might have attracted little attention and might have been accomplished without the knowledge of the white residents upon the island; but for an Indian princess there must be a grand feast and all the ceremony befitting her rank. Guy Kingsland was in a dilemma from which it might be difficult to extricate himself, and, cursing his folly, he drifted on. Fearing to arouse the suspicion of Heather Flower, he continued his visits, to be received, upon each occasion, with such rapturous greeting that even his fickle heart was stirred, half with a consciousness of his own villainy, but more by a dread of the consequences should she discover his falsity, and dimly realising the fierceness of her passions when unchained. Heather Flower, however, in her absorbing and implicit trust and love suspected nothing. His fervid, impassioned glances, his magnetic presence, his caressing tones, had awakened into active life all the passionate tenderness that was so blended in her dual nature with the fierceness of the savage. Meantime, by well-timed but casual remarks he had intimated to Major Gordon that the frequent visits Damaris paid her Indian friend were in scarcely good form, and that the growing intimacy between the two maidens should be curtailed as far as possible. Acting under the suggestion, the Major had prohibited his daughter's visits to the Sachem's lodge, except escorted by her father or lover, and hinting vaguely at some threatened rising of the tribes upon the mainland or a descent of the Mohawks, a war between the tribes that might break out at any moment; and that, should a white girl be found with the Montauks, by either Narragansetts or Mohawks, she would be made captive or slaughtered. At the same time he cautioned her against mentioning the matter to Heather Flower, declaring that it might give her needless anxiety, as the outbreak might, after all, not occur. As for Damaris, she regarded her false lover as the embodiment of all that was chivalrous, brave and true, believing that he worshipped her with the ardour of a first and abiding passion, and trusting him with a blindness which naught save the unmasking of his treachery could unseal, and so matters drifted on to a crisis which could not long be delayed. "Great Heavens! what a dolt, what an idiot, I have made of myself!" thought Kinsgland. "What evil genius prompted me to imperil my peace, my ambition, even my personal safety? I was mad to mistake the fleeting fancy for that fierce tigress of an American forest for love-a fatal error for which I may pay dearly. Fortunately, her severe code of virtue has baffled my advances and completely balked me, else I might be in deeper seas. As it is, I am between the devil and the deep sea, for I cannot shake off the superstitious foreboding of evil until the waves of the Atlantic roll between me and this vindictive daughter of a savage, fiery race. Doubledyed fool that I was to risk the loss of the innocent child who loves me, by an entanglement with one for whom I really care nothing; yet the play must be played out, the farce carried on to the end; Ye gods! it looks as if it might end in a tragedy, and when my mission is concluded, I shall lose not a |