The kneeling Indian woman, her face radiant with a holy happiness, the stern warrior, his dark countenance lighted up as he gazed down upon her as if the long obscured sun had once more struggled from behind the clouds—­these two silent figures in the green wood of their island home formed a picture touchingly beautiful and sublime.

Who can picture the glory that illuminated the soul of the Huron warrior, the divine bliss that went thrilling through his very being, as he uttered this vow, and felt within him the consciousness that never, never again would he be overcome by the temptation to tear the scalp from the head of his enemy, the vengeful Shawnee.

“When has Fluellina seen the Moravian missionary?” he asked, as she reseated herself beside him.

“But a short time since.  He inquired of Oonomoo.”

“Oonomoo will visit him soon.”

“Can he not go with Fluellina to-day?”

“When the sun is yonder,” replied the Huron, pointing to a place which it would reach in about half an hour, “he must go, and when the sun sinks in the west, he must be many miles from here.”

“When will he return again?”

“He cannot tell.  He goes to befriend the white man and maid who is in the hands of the Shawnees.”

“Fluellina will wait and will pray for Oonomoo and for them.”

“Oonomoo will pray for himself, and his arm will be strong, for he fights none but warriors.”

“And Niniotan will grow up like him; he will be a brave warrior who, I pray, will take no scalp from the head of his foe.”

“What think the missionary of Niniotan?”

“He finds that the blood of Oonomoo flows strong in his veins.  His eye burns, and his breast pants when he hears of the great deeds his father has performed, and he prays that he may go with him upon the war-path.”

“He shall accompany him shortly.  He can aim the rifle, and his feet are like those of the deer.  He shall be a man whose name shall make the Shawnee warriors tremble in their lodges.”

“Shall he be a merciful warrior?” asked Fluellina, looking up in the face of the Huron.

“Like his father, shall he be.  He shall slay none but men in rightful combat, and no scalp shall ever adorn his lodge.  He must drink in the words of the Moravian missionary.”

“He does, but his heart is young.  He will be valiant and merciful, but he longs to emulate the deeds of Oonomoo—­his father.”

“I will teach him to emulate what Oonomoo will do, not what he has done.”

“He counts the scalps that hang in our lodge, and wonders why they do not increase.  He gazes long and often upon those which you tore years ago from the heads of the two chiefs, and I know he burns to gain a trophy for himself.”

“Has Fluellina the choicest food these forests can afford?”

“The eye of Niniotan is sure, and his mother never wants.”