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The Last of the Mohicans | James Fenimore Cooper | |
Chapter 29 |
Page 8 of 9 |
The eyes of the old man opened heavily, and he once more looked upward at the multitude. As the piercing tones of the suppliant swelled on his ears, they moved slowly in the direction of her person, and finally settled there in a steady gaze. Cora had cast herself to her knees; and, with hands clenched in each other and pressed upon her bosom, she remained like a beauteous and breathing model of her sex, looking up in his faded but majestic countenance, with a species of holy reverence. Gradually the expression of Tamenund's features changed, and losing their vacancy in admiration, they lighted with a portion of that intelligence which a century before had been wont to communicate his youthful fire to the extensive bands of the Delawares. Rising without assistance, and seemingly without an effort, he demanded, in a voice that startled its auditors by its firmness: "What art thou?" "A woman. One of a hated race, if thou wilt--a Yengee. But one who has never harmed thee, and who cannot harm thy people, if she would; who asks for succor." "Tell me, my children," continued the patriarch, hoarsely, motioning to those around him, though his eyes still dwelt upon the kneeling form of Cora, "where have the Delawares camped?" "In the mountains of the Iroquois, beyond the clear springs of the Horican." "Many parching summers are come and gone," continued the sage, "since I drank of the water of my own rivers. The children of Minquon[1] are the justest white men, but they were thirsty and they took it to themselves. Do they follow us so far?" |
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The Last of the Mohicans James Fenimore Cooper |
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