VII

He starts! Was it a trick? Had angels kind
Touched with compassion some weak woman’s breast?
Such things he’d read of! Faintly to his mind
Came Pocahontas pleading for her guest.
But then, this voice, though soft, was still inclined
To baritone! A squaw in ragged gown
Stood near him, frowning hatred. Was he blind?
Whose eye was this beneath that beetling frown?
The frown was painted, but that wink meant—Brown!