e
happiest part of my life was spent. But when you get back to the forest,
think sometimes of the old Spaniard of St. Augustin, and if ever a white
man falls into your hands, treat him, my son, as I have treated you.'

"It was not long, Rene, before I was punished for my ingratitude in
running away from my protector. I had forgotten in the city my knowledge
of wood-craft, and I lost my way in the great forest, and was captured
by a band of Creeks. My costume and the feathers in my hair proclaimed
me one of the Natchez, and when Simaghan, the chief of the band, bound
me, and demanded who I was, I proudly answered. 'I am Chactas, the son
of the Outalissi who took more than a hundred scalps from the warriors
of the Creeks.'

"'Chactas, son of Outalissi,' said Simaghan, 'rejoice! We will burn you
before our wig-wams.'

"'That is good news,' I said, and thereupon I sang my song of death.

"Although the Creeks were my enemies, I could not help admiring them.
They were fine, handsome men of a merry and open nature, and their women
were beautiful, and full of pity towards me. One night, while I was
lying sleepless beside their camp fire, one of their maidens came and
sat by my side. Her face was strangely lovely; her eyes shone with
tears; and a little golden crucifix on her bosom glittered as the
firelight played upon it.

"'Maiden,' I said, 'your beauty is too great to be wasted on a dying
man. Let me die without tasting the delights of love. They would only
make death more bitter to me. You are worthy to be the squaw of a great
chief. Wait till you can find a lover with whom you can live in joy and
happiness all your life.'

"'Are you a Christian?' asked the maiden.

"'No,' I replied. 'I have not betrayed the faith of my forefathers.'

"'Oh, you are only a wicked heathen,' she exclaimed, covering her face
with her hands and weeping. 'I have been baptised by my mother. I am
Atala, daughter of Simaghan of the golden bracelets, and the chief of
this band. We are going to Cuscowilla, where you will be burnt.'

"And with a look of anger, Atala rose up and went away."

Here Chactas for a moment became silent. Tears rolled from his blind
eyes down his withered cheeks.

"Oh Rene, my son," he said, "you see that Chactas is very foolish in
spite of his reputation for wisdom! Why do men still weep, even when age
has blinded their eyes? Every night Atala came to see me, and a strange
love for her was born in my heart. After