by, but the withering desolation of her Winter had not yet begun: for her, it was perhaps the mellow Indian summer of life, serene and beautiful; the busy labors of life gone by, its burden not yet assumed.
But Alice had changed far more; hers was still the season of growth and development. The rich promise of her childhood was more than fulfilled; the Water-lily had bloomed out in all its pure, perfected beauty. She was gloriously fair, but with cheeks and lips vermeil with the fresh hues of health. A figure full and free as Hebe, yet with the light grace of the wild gazelle; with long, dancing, chestnut curls, just touched with gold when the light wind tossed them into the sun's golden rays; and clear blue eyes, in which youth, health, and summer held innocent merriment. As gay and guileless as a child, yet as gentle and loving as a woman—she was the idol of her grandmother, with whom she still lived in the humble home in which we first found her.
But Pashemet, her adopted brother, had gone; his people had removed farther to the West, and the young warrior, who was
