French books, a couple of writing-desks, and, scattered
over the whole, several articles of unfinished needle-work.

Such was the apartment in which Madeline and Clara de
Haldimar were met at the moment we have selected for
their introduction to our readers. It was the morning of
that day on which the second council of the chiefs, the
result of which has already been seen, was held at Detroit.
The sun had risen bright and gorgeously above the adjacent
forest, throwing his golden beams upon the calm glassy
waters of the lake; and now, approaching rapidly towards
the meridian, gradually diminished the tall bold shadows
of the block-houses upon the shore. At the distance of
about a mile lay the armed vessel so often alluded to;
her light low hull dimly seen in the hazy atmosphere that
danced upon the waters, and her attenuated masts and
sloping yards, with their slight tracery of cordage,
recalling rather the complex and delicate ramifications
of the spider's web, than the elastic yet solid machinery
to which the lives of those within had so often been
committed in sea and tempest. Upon the strand, and close
opposite to the small gate which now stood ajar, lay one
of her boats, the crew of which had abandoned her with
the exception only of a single individual, apparently
her cockswain, who, with the tiller under his arm, lay
half extended in the stern-sheets, his naked chest exposed,
and his tarpaulin hat shielding his eyes from the sun
while he indulged in profound repose. These were the only
objects that told of human life. Everywhere beyond the
eye rested on the faint outline of forest, that appeared