tavern of the Indian King, and who
now stood in an attitude of enchanting and unstudied grace, her dark
eyes, shaded by their long and silky lashes, alternately reposing their
glances upon her kneeling friend, or gazing out into the distance with a
mournful, pensive look. The gently swelling breast, the cheeks
overspread with the most delicate tint of the rose, the airy and elastic
form, might have belonged to the goddess of love herself, in the days of
her freshest youth; but on the other hand, the childish innocent glance,
the nobly-formed forehead, the rosy mouth, of which the coral lips were
rather indicated than displayed, and an indescribable something in her
whole appearance, gave her an air of purity and dignified modesty
calculated to prevent her beauty from exciting the slightest sensual
thought. Her hair, of a dark gold colour, fell in long tresses around a
snow white and exquisitely moulded neck; a gown of green silk enveloped
her person, and reached to a pair of the minutest feet that ever
supported the form of woman. Her mocassins were similar to those of the
Indian girl, a white silk kerchief veiled her neck, and in her hand she
carried a straw hat.

A tear gathered in the eyes of Rosa as she gazed kindly, but mournfully,
at her friend, and then stooping down she folded her in her arms, and
pressed a kiss upon her lips. For a short time, no sound was audible
save the sobbing of the maidens. At last the Indian spoke, in a
plaintive tone.

"See," said she, "Canondah's bosom is open to the grief of Rosa."

"My dearest Canondah!" exclaimed the beautiful girl thus addressed; and
again a flood of tears gushed from her eyes.

"Oh!" implored the Indian, "tell thy Canondah the cause of this grief.
See," continued she, in tones melodiously mournful, "see, these arms
bore the white Rose when yet she was very little, on these shoulders did
she hang when we crossed the great river, on this bosom did she lie like
a waterfowl that suns itself on the broad mirror of the Natchez. Day and
night, like the doe after his fawn, did Canondah follow the steps of the
white Rose, to shield her from harm; and yet, now that she is a woman,
and has become the white Rose of the Oconees, she shuts her from her
heart. Tell thy Canondah what it is that makes thy bosom heave, and thy
cheek grow pale."

"Does not Canondah know?" replied Rosa in a gentle tone. "Poor Rosa has
good cause to be sad and heavy of heart."

"Is the great ch