Thus having spoken, Waqua gathered up his robe upon his shoulder, and awaited a reply.

But in vain.  Still the figure preserved silence, and maintained the same immovable attitude, gazing on him with eyes from which there was no escaping, and which seemed to pierce into his soul.  The uneasiness of Waqua increased.  He felt no fear, but a confusion of thought which threatened to obscure entirely his faculties.  The idea crossed his mind that the man was dumb, but that accounted only for the silence.  Why the immobility?  If he were dumb, at least he could walk, for well-formed limbs were visible.  But the man was quite still, not even winking, only fastening his eyes steadfastly on his own.  To the excited imagination of the Indian, the eyes began to assume a deeper sternness, and he found it more and more difficult to withdraw his own.  Suddenly, a thought darted through his mind, which made him shiver all over, and spring from his seat.  The idea of fascination caused the start.  He had more than once beheld the black snake extended on the ground, charming, with his glittering eyes the anguished bird which, with fainter and fainter screams, striving to delay a fate it could not escape, kept flying round and round in constantly diminishing circles, until it fell into the jaws of the destroyer.  The same fatal influence he had seen exercised upon rabbits and other small game, the prey of the snake, and he did not doubt that a like fascination was attempted to be practiced on himself, and that the man was a conjurer.  The thought threw him into a rage, and he determined to take vengeance for the insult.  Drawing, therefore, his tomahawk from his girdle and brandishing it over his head, he exclaimed,

“Waqua is a warrior, and not a bird to be made weak by a white medicine.”

But before the enraged Indian could cast the weapon from his hand, he felt his arm suddenly arrested, and, turning, beheld the laughing face of Prudence Rix.

“Stop, stop!” cried the girl, hardly able to speak for merriment; “what are you going to do?  It is not a man, but only a painting.”

It is not probable that the Indian perfectly comprehended the explanation of Prudence, who, in spite of her affected fears, had been, without his knowledge, an amused spectator of his conduct; but her interposition had the effect to prevent any violence, especially, as upon looking again at the portrait, he felt no longer the awe which had oppressed him, and therefore knew that the charm had lost its power.  He lowered the tomahawk to his side, and addressed himself to her.

“What white man ever entered the wigwam of Waqua and was not invited to a seat on his mat?  Who can say that Waqua fastened his eyes on him like a snake?”

“But see,” said the girl, advancing to the portrait, and passing her hand over its surface; “it is nothing but a cunning painting.  Come and satisfy thyself.”