"O, my God, what will become of me?" sobbed poor Jennie.
"I cannot live! O, I will go after him! I will fly with
him! I cannot endure this separation! O, sister, will
you not intercede for my beloved? Tell uncle how noble
and manly, and honourable he is! Can you not do anything
for me? My God, what shall I do?"

In this fashion did poor Jennie's grief find words, and
we leave her alone with her sore heart, while we follow
the rejected suitor. He walked swiftly down the lawn,
turning not his eye, or he might have seen in the window
his lover, stretching imploring arms toward him. All his
blood was running madly in his veins, and it burned like
fire. His heart was hot, and his temples throbbed.

"So I am only a half-breed, and might as well be all
Indian for that matter! O, God! A despised half-breed!
They have shown the fangs at last. We now see how they
regard us." And he went forth among his friends, and told
the story of the insult and humiliation. A thousand
half-breed hearts that night in Red River burned with
vengeance against the white man; French Metis and English
Metis alike had felt the sting of the indignity; and
these two bodies, sundered before through petty cause,
now united in a brotherhood of hate against the white
population. It needs no further words to shew how ready
these dusky people would be to rise and follow a crafty
leader, who cried out: