Worn Out
And Exhausted With Fatigue And Hunger, He Sat Down To Ponder On What
Course He Should Adopt.
The Queen of night, at that moment shedding
her silvery rays around, only helped to show the hunter how hopeless
was his present position.
Amidst these mournful reflections, his ear
was startled by the sound of footsteps close by; his spirits rose at
the prospect of help being at hand; soon he perceived the outlines of
a moving white object. Was it a phantom which his disordered
imagination had conjured up; terrified he seized his trusty gun and
was in the act of firing, when the apparition, rapidly advancing
toward him, assumed quite a human form; a little figure stood before
him with eyes as black as night, and raven tresses flowing to the
night wind; a spotless garment enveloped in its ample folds this airy
and graceful spectre. Was it a sylph, the spirit of the wilderness?
Was it Diana, the goddess of the chase, favoring one of her most
ardent votaries with a glimpse of her form divine? It was neither. It
was an Algonquin beauty, one of those ideal types whose white skin
betray their hybrid origin - a mixture of European blood with that of
the aboriginal races. It was Caroline, a child of love, born on the
shores of the great Ottawa river; a French officer was her sire, and
the powerful Algonquin tribe of the Beaver claimed her mother.
"The Canadian Nimrod, struck at the sight of such extraordinary
beauty, asked her name, and after relating his adventure, he begged of
her to shew him the way to the castle in the neighborhood, as she must
be familiar with every path in the forest.
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