So it was with the rain which, at the dark of the moon, pattered gently on the palmetto roof of her wigwam.
"And now," said the rain with a soft gust of flying drops, "now there is Sho-caw!"
"Yes," said Diane with a sigh, "there is Sho-caw. I am very sorry."
"But," warned the rain, "one must not forget. At Keela's teaching you have fallen into the soft, musical tongue of these Indian folk with marvelous ease. And you wear the Seminole dress of a chief--"
"You can ride and shoot an arrow swift and far. Your eyes are keen and your tread lithe and soft like a fawn--"
"It is all the wild lore of the woodland I learned as a child."
"But Sho-caw does not know! To him the gypsy heart of you, the sun-brown skin and scarlet cheeks, the night-black hair beneath the turban, are but the lure and charm of an errant daughter of the O-kee-fee-ne-kee wilderness. What wonder that he can not see you as you are, a dark-eyed child of the race of white men!"
"He has been grave and very deferential, gathered wood for you and carried water. Yesterday there was a freshly killed deer at the door of the wigwam. It is the first shy overture of the wooing Seminole."
"I know. Keela has told me. It has all frightened me a little. I--I think I had better go away again."
"There was a time, in the days of Arcadia, when Philip would have laughed, and a second deer would have lain at the door of your wig-wam--"
"Like one perhaps who has abandoned a dream!"
"Why does he ride away for days with Sho-caw?"
The wind, wafting from the rain which splashed in the pool of Mic-co's court, might have told, but the wind, with the business of rain upon its mind, was reticent.
"Yes. Day by day I have put off the thought of the inevitable reckoning. It is another reason why presently I must hurry away."
"A singular trio of suitors!" sighed the rain. "A prince--an Indian warrior--and a spy!"
"Not that!" cried the girl's heart. "No, no--not that!"
"And of the three, Sho-caw, bright copper though he is, is perhaps braver--"
"To be sure Philip is brown and handsome and sturdy and very strong, but Ronador--ah!--there imperial distinction and poise are blended with as true a native grace as Sho-caw's--"
"Sho-caw's grace is not so heavy as Ronador's--and not so sprightly as Philip's--"