Mary alone seemed to remember that the ponies had really been stopped, not by Bailey, but by the man who now stood silent near to her.  She in turn rose, and spoke with some diffidence.  “I should like to offer my thanks too.  I think I was too frightened to say anything this morning, but indeed I thank you.”

The stranger bowed.  “You make too much of a very small matter,” he answered; “the ponies would most likely have become quiet of themselves, only it did not seem certain they would have turned the corner quite safely.”

“I am sure they would not; they were quite unmanageable, and we had not met anybody for a long time.  That road is so quiet.”

Mary went on talking, fascinated by the charm of the voice that replied to her, until other people did come in, and the spell was broken.  But when Helen moved back into the larger rooms, and she was obliged to follow, she went dreamingly until they found themselves beside their hostess.  Upon her Helen seized, and assailed her with questions.  Who were these two men?  But of all the amazing announcements Lady Deermount had ever had to make respecting her guests, the most amazing perhaps was in her reply.

“He is an Indian Chief, your hero, a true, genuine Uncas, only educated; and the other is an American.”

An Indian Chief!  These were the days when Cooper’s novels were the latest fashion, and many a girl’s head was turned by visions of splendid heroes—­stately, generous, brave, and beautiful—­capable of everything that was grandest, noblest, and most fascinating.  Here was one in propria persona; and one, too, who, in addition to all the heroic virtues, could speak excellent French and English, and dress like an English gentleman.

What wonder if that night mischief was done never to be undone, however long, however bitterly repented?

It would be too tedious to continue the story in detail.  Lady Deermount had constituted herself the patroness of many adventurers, but never of one cleverer than Bailey.  She absolutely believed and duly repeated the story he told her, which was briefly this:—­His companion, whose many-syllabled Indian name he taught her, but who, in England, found his baptismal one of Christian more convenient, was the chief of a tribe once powerful, now fallen into decay.  To raise this tribe again was his one idea, his fervent ambition.  He had himself been educated by the French Jesuits, but, when fully informed, had seen the errors of their faith, and now earnestly desired to found among his people, English civilization and the Protestant religion.  Money was needed; for this he had consented to come to England, accompanied by about a dozen men and women of his tribe, hoping that the sight of these poor creatures in all their native savagery would prevail upon the rich and generous to help him in his work of education.