"Harken now, mademoiselle; it sings again." And lo! from over the
hushed face of the water came the notes of the guardian maiden.
"The song is not plaintive and sorrow-laden, as I have been told the
swan's song is, Julie."
"No; the singing of the swan soothes and consoles. Hark again to it."
"Oh, it is divine, Julie, and creeps into my heart, filling me with
comfort and exquisite peace."
"I doubt not, mademoiselle, that the maiden came to this lake to
cheer your sorrowful spirit, and to give you surety that neither you
nor your lover stand in danger."
"Ah, Julie; it is so sweet to think this. And this it is which the
song tells me through the delightful quiet of my heart."
"Yes, my sweet mistress; and I had forgotten the most delicious
tidings in the legend. The maiden's singing is always a guarantee
that no harm can come to either of the lovers." And while Annette was
feasting her spirit upon this new joy, the song of the swan, which
for a minute or two had been hushed, suddenly was resumed close by;
and looking, the two maidens saw a bird, beautiful, and endowed with
grace of motion past description, move by, sending divers shining
rings of water before it. Then a sudden darkness fell and hid the
bird; but the song came at frequent intervals to the girls from the
midst of the lake, and whenever a shadow passed over Annette's
spirit, the singing was resumed. [Footnote: There is a legend among
some of the Indian tribes of the North-West territories that the swan
is a metamorphosed love-sick maiden, whose function and prerogative is
to watch over all young virgins who have given away their hearts. It
is a fact that the Indian hunters long refrained from killing the
white swan in deference to a belief in this legend.--E.C.] There was now a stir among the brambles near the girl's tent, and to
Annette's "Qui vive?" came the response-"It is Little Poplar."
"Oh, I am so glad that he is come," Julie said, and the eyes of this
minx grew instantly larger, and ten times more bright.
Some of my fair readers may now desire to know "exactly" what this
Indian chief, who is so conspicuous in the story "looked like." Well,
he was just such a man as always finds an easy access to a woman's
heart. It is true that he was "a savage," but if merit there be in
"blood,"--and for my own part I would not have a dog unless I was
sure about his pedigree,--he was descended of a long and illustrious
line of chiefs, whose ancestors, mayhap, were foremost in that
splendid civilization, that has left us an art mighty and full of
wonders, centuries before the destroying sails of Cortez were spread
upon the deep.