d of morning. "It is only the Great Spirit that
can save us now!" exclaimed the frantic maiden. "Lo, my Moscharr, we
hasten to the land of souls!"

"Not the Great Spirit himself, did he will it, could save us,"
answered the lover in a tone which seemed to be that of impiety.
"Were he here himself, with all the Manitous of the earth, and the
air, and the flood, and the fire, gathered together from mountain, and
valley, and wood, and prairie, he could not save us. Together, Mekaia,
we shall sleep in the stormy cataract."

The maiden heard the dreadful words in silence. But even then she
showed the depth of her affection. The love of a woman endures through
all changes; she shrinks not at death, so the beloved one be at her
side. When the beauteous flower of the forest saw her fate
approaching, and so near, she sank into the arms of her Moscharr, as
though it were pleasanter to die there than elsewhere; and a soft
smile, for she smiled even in that dread moment, told that she was
most happy to die, if she could die on the breast of him she loved.

But hark, what voice is that calling upon thee, wretched maiden! Did
not he who won thy youthful heart, while yet it was little and
fluttering, so pronounce the loved word "Mekaia?" Was not _that_ the
tone and accent which oft rang through the hollow beech woods, when
together ye went to gather the ripened mast, and chanced to separate
till the cry recalled? And look--see, one stands upon the beetling
rock above thee, amidst the crash and thunder of the eddy into which
thou art cast, his arms stretched towards thee, beautiful flower of
the wilderness, and his look one of unutterable agony and despair. It
is Moscharr, beautiful Mekaia, it is he who sat by thy side in the
playful hours of infancy, and won thy little heart ere it knew
wherefore it was beating. With the speed of the blast he has followed
thy course down the shore of the cataract, and now he stands upon the
edge of the terrible gulf, horror depicted in his countenance, his
eyes cast upward in supplication to the Great Spirit, that thou mayst
yet be preserved, and agony and doubt written on his face, lest the
prayer he breathes may not be heard. And if that be thy lover who
calls franticly upon thee from the beetling rock, who is he that sits
at thy side, wearing the form and semblance of that lover, and
speaking with the soft and kind tones which were ever his when
addressing the flower of the forest maids? Alas! r