“My brother is right,” said the Assistant, not unwilling to avail himself of an opportunity to impress on the mind of the savage the superiority of the whites; “but he has seen little of the wisdom of the white man.  It is a light thing to put a man upon a board, though at the same time he may be in the spirit land.  It is wonderful to Waqua, but a white child understands it.  If Waqua remains the friend of the white man, greater and more wonderful things shall he learn.”

“Waqua is an Indian, with an Indian head, and he is afraid it is not big enough to hold all these things.  It makes his head ache to think of them.”

“My brother’s head will grow.  But will he follow me now into another part of my dwelling?”

The Indian made a gesture of assent, and the Assistant preceding him, the two went in the direction of the room where were Arundel and Eveline.

Prudence, when she left Spikeman and Waqua together, had rushed in upon the lovers to apprise them of the Assistant’s presence.  The proud spirit of the young man revolted somewhat at the idea of stealing out of the house like a felon, and a little time was spent before the expostulations of Prudence and the entreaties of Eveline could prevail.  And when he rose to leave, some time longer was consumed in tender leave-takings, which, though they seemed instants to the lovers, were lengthened almost into hours to the anxious waiting-maid.  Hence it happened that when the door was opened, Arundel was confronted by the Assistant.  Surprise and indignation were both expressed in the countenance of Spikeman, as he demanded to what circumstance he was indebted for the honor of the young man’s company.

“Master Spikeman knows,” answered Arundel, “without any averment on my part, that I came not to see him.”

“It needs no declaration of thine to assure me of that,” said Spikeman.

“I do nought,” said Arundel, “which I will not avouch by both deeds and words.  Plainly, I came to see Mistress Eveline Dunning, and strange indeed would it be, were I in this strange land to avoid her presence.”

“Speak out the whole truth,” said Spikeman, with rising passion, “and avow that like a thief thou didst steal in to corrupt the affections of my ward, and teach her undutifulness to her guardian.”

Before the young man could reply, Eveline interposed.

“You do Master Arundel wrong, sir,” she said, “to charge him with aught unbecoming.  He comes hither in open day, and that by my special invitation.”

The eyes of the spirited girl flashed, and her cheeks were crimson, as she made the avowal.

“This from you, Eveline Dunning,” exclaimed Spikeman, with ill-suppressed rage.  “Have you so far forgotten the modesty of your sex as to make this declaration in public?  I knew before, that this boy had bewitched you, but dreamed not that he had triumphed over all maidenly reserve.”

There was something insufferably insulting, both in the tone and in the insinuation concealed in the language, which was not entirely understood by the pure mind of Eveline, but which was maddening to her lover.