Did you ever hear Benjamin sing the ›Bay of Biscay, O?‹«

»I believe he gave us part of it this evening,« said Marmaduke, laughing. – »There was, now and then, a fearful quaver in his voice, and it seems that Mr. Penguillian, like most others who do one thing particularly well, knows nothing else. He has, certainly, a wonderful partiality to one tune, and he has a prodigious self-confidence in that one, for he delivers himself like a north-wester sweeping across the lake. – But come, gentlemen, our way is clear, and the sleigh waits. – Good evening, Mr. Grant. Good night, young lady. Remember that you dine beneath the Corinthian roof to-morrow, with Elizabeth.«

The parties separated, Richard holding a close dissertation with Mr. Le Quoi, as they descended the stairs, on the subject of psalmody, which he closed by a violent eulogium on the air of the »Bay of Biscay, O,« as particularly connected with his friend Benjamin's execution.

During the preceding dialogue, Mohegan retained his seat, with his head shrouded in his blanket, as seemingly inattentive to surrounding objects, as the departing congregation was, itself, to the presence of the aged chief. Natty, also, continued on the log, where he had first placed himself, with his head resting on one of his hands, while the other held the rifle, which was thrown carelessly across his lap. His countenance expressed uneasiness, and the occasional unquiet glances, that he had thrown around him, during the service, plainly indicated some unusual causes for unhappiness. His continuing seated was, however, out of respect to the Indian chief, to whom he paid the utmost deference, on all occasions, although it was mingled with the rough manner of a hunter.

The young companion of these two ancient inhabitants of the forest, remained, also, standing before the extinguished brands, probably from an unwillingness to depart without his comrades. The room was now deserted by all but this group, the divine and his daughter. As the party from the Mansion-House disappeared, John arose, and dropping the blanket from his head, he shook back the mass of black hair from his face, and approaching Mr. Grant, he extended his hand, and said, solemnly –

»Father, I thank you. The words that have been said, since the rising moon, have gone upward, and the Great Spirit is glad. What you have told your children, they will remember, and be good.« He paused a moment, and then elevating himself with the grandeur of an Indian chief, he added – »If Chingachgook lives to travel towards the setting sun, after his tribe, and the Great Spirit carries him over the lakes and mountains, with the breath in his body, he will tell his people the good talk he has heard; and they will believe him, for who can say that Mohegan has ever lied?«

»Let him place his dependence on the goodness of Divine mercy,« said Mr. Grant, to whom the proud consciousness of the Indian sounded a little heterodox, »and it never will desert him. When the heart is filled with love to God, there is no room for sin. – But, young man, to you I owe not only an obligation, in common with those you saved this evening, on the mountain, but my thanks, for your respectful and pious manner, in assisting in the service, at a most embarrassing moment. I should be happy to see you sometimes, at my dwelling, when, perhaps, my conversation may strengthen you in the path which you appear to have chosen. It is so unusual to find one of your age and appearance, in these woods, at all acquainted with our holy liturgy, that it lessens at once the distance between us, and I feel we are no longer strangers. You seem quite at home in the service: I did not perceive that you had even a book, although good Mr. Jones had laid several in different parts of the room.«

»It would be strange, if I were ignorant of the service of our church, sir,« returned the youth, modestly, »for I was baptized in its communion, and I have never yet attended public worship, elsewhere. For me, to use the forms of any other denomination, would be as singular as our own have proved, to the people here this evening.«

»You give me great pleasure, my dear sir,« cried the divine, seizing the other by the hand, and shaking it cordially. – »You will go home with me now – indeed you must – my child has yet to thank you for saving my life. I will listen to no apologies. This worthy Indian, and your friend there, will accompany us. – Bless me! to think, that he has arrived at manhood, in this country, without entering a dissenting11 meeting-house!«

»No, no,« interrupted the Leather-stocking, »I must away to the wigwam: there's work there, that mus'nt be forgotten, for all your churchings and merry-makings.