Fluellina received the embrace of her husband with a radiant countenance, and she seemed overflowing with joy as she looked up in his own glowing face.  Taking her fondly by the hand, he led her a few yards away, where he seated her upon a half-imbedded rock and placed himself beside her.  A glance at the two would have shown that there was no considerable difference in their ages.  The wife could not have been over thirty at the most, and she looked much younger, while the husband was perhaps thirty-five.  His square, massive chest was covered with scars—­eloquent evidences of his bravery, for he had never received a wound in the back.  His face, usually so stern and dignified, was now softened, and the bright, metallic glitter of eye was changed to the sparkle of gladness.

The handsome, symmetrical arms of Fluellina were bare to the shoulder, and Oonomoo held one in his broad palm, closing and opening upon the plump flesh and delicate muscle, with as much admiration as though he were still her young and ardent lover.  They sat thus, gazing into each other’s face for several moments without speaking, so full seemed their hearts.  Finally Oonomoo seated himself upon the ground at the feet of Fluellina and leaned his head over upon her lap.  This was what she wished, and she had maneuvered in that delicate manner peculiar to her sex, by which the desire of the lover is awakened without his suspecting the true cause.

Unfastening the bindings of his hair, she parted it carefully and drew her fingers slowly through and through it until it glistened like satin.  She did not speak, for she had no desire to disturb the languor which she knew it cast over her husband.  As his head drooped, she sustained it and gradually ceased, until he slept.

Oonomoo awoke in a short time, and reseated himself by the side of his wife.

“Where is Niniotan?” he asked, looking around him.

“He is dressing the meat of the deer which he slew this morning.  Shall I call him?”

“No, I am not yet tired of my Fluellina.”

The happy wife replied by placing her warm cheek against his, and holding it there a moment.

“Oonomoo has no wounds upon him,” said she, raising her head and looking at his breast and shoulders.

“But he has been in danger.”

“No scalps hang at his girdle.”

“And none shall ever hang there again.”

“Not the scalp of the Shawnee?”

“No,” replied the Huron, in a voice as deep and solemn as a distant peal of thunder.

Fluellina looked at her husband a moment, with her face lit up by a strange expression.  Then, as she read the determination impressed upon his countenance, and knew the sacredness with which he regarded his pledged word, she sunk down on her knees, and clasping her hands, turned her dark, soulful eyes to heaven and uttered the one exclamation: 

“Great Spirit, I thank thee!”