sible!" she sank back, her dark countenance turning to a livid paleness with the violence of her emotion—while her companion remained absolutely awed into silence by the change in the Indian’s agitated features. "Impossible," continued she in a low voice, rather as if thinking aloud, "it seems but yesterday that she was at his side, with her soft eyes that so watched his own, and her sweet voice, which he never heard utter one harsh word, and indeed who ever did? She sleeps in a cold dark vault on which her native sun looks not; had they buried her in its warm light, amid the long grass which she loved, the flowers would have grown up to hide the dark earth below. Why his heart is yet warm with the beating of her's. He cannot look in the faces of those children and not see hers; so beautiful, so young, so devoted—she cannot be so soon forgotten—it is impossible."
Little as she liked the news she told, Mrs. Whyte felt her own consequence impeached by having her authority doubted.—Diving therefore
