Chapter 22

"That point in misery, which makes the oppressed man regardless
of his own life, makes him too Lord of the oppressor's."

Coleridge, Remorse, V.i.201-04.

All this time Hetty had remained seated in the head of the scow,
looking sorrowfully into the water which held the body of her mother,
as well as that of the man whom she had been taught to consider her
father. Hist stood near her in gentle quiet, but had no consolation
to offer in words. The habits of her people taught her reserve in
this respect, and the habits of her sex induced her to wait patiently
for a moment when she might manifest some soothing sympathy by
means of acts, rather than of speech. Chingachgook held himself a
little aloof, in grave reserve, looking like a warrior, but feeling
like a man.

Judith joined her sister with an air of dignity and solemnity it
was not her practice to show, and, though the gleamings of anguish
were still visible on her beautiful face, when she spoke it was
firmly and without tremor. At that instant Hist and the Delaware
withdrew, moving towards Hurry, in the other end of the boat.

"Sister," said Judith kindly, "I have much to say to you; we will
get into this canoe, and paddle off to a distance from the Ark -The
secrets of two orphans ought not to be heard by every ear."

"Certainly, Judith, by the ears of their parents? Let Hurry lift
the grapnel and move away with the Ark, and leave us here, near
the graves of father and mother, to say what we may have to say."

"Father!" repeated Judith slowly, the blood for the first time since
her parting with March mounting to her cheeks - "He was no father
of ours, Hetty! That we had from his own mouth, and in his dying
moments."

"Are you glad, Judith, to find you had no father! He took care of
us, and fed us, and clothed us, and loved us; a father could have
done no more. I don't understand why he wasn't a father."

"Never mind, dear child, but let us do as you have said. It may
be well to remain here, and let the Ark move a little away. Do you
prepare the canoe, and I will tell Hurry and the Indians our wishes."

This was soon and simply done, the Ark moving with measured strokes
of the sweeps a hundred yards from the spot, leaving the girls
floating, seemingly in air, above the place of the dead; so buoyant
was the light vessel that held them, and so limpid the element by
which it was sustained.

"The death of Thomas Hutter," Judith commenced, after a short
pause had prepared her sister to receive her communications, "has
altered all our prospects, Hetty. If he was not our father, we
are sisters, and must feel alike and