As the summer wore on, the change in Weetano grew more and more apparent to the watchful eye of Anna Temple, and awoke in her loving heart an earnest anxiety for her safety. Her strength was no longer sufficient to urge forward her canoe—and it rested like a bird on the water; and though she still insisted on the daily ramble in the greenwood, she followed her companion with faltering footsteps, and each day their resting-place was some fallen trunk or mossy rock nearer home than on the day preceding.

It was during these summer rambles that Anna had acceded to the earnest entreaty of her friend to instruct her in the “Book of the Pale Face;” and the avidity with which she gathered the words of instruction betrayed an ardent thirst for wisdom. She was soon able to read with a little assistance, and Anna presented her with a little Pocket-Bible, that had been the companion of all her wanderings, with her own name in gilt on the cover. It was her sole copy of the Scriptures—but the family Bible lay on the shelf, at their cottage; and she wisely thought her little volume would be of greater worth to Red-Bird than to herself—and much cause had she afterward for joy that her gift of love was thus bestowed.

As the season advanced, Weetano manifested an anxiety with regard to their return, and evidently dreaded her father’s orders to depart—for she had learned a little of the tastes and habits of her white friends, and they seemed more congenial to her now delicate frame than the ruder customs of her tribe. There seemed, moreover, some secret care weighing down her spirits; and although she, Indian-like, buried it for a time in her own bosom, and Anna forbore questioning, it at length found voice in words. They were sitting by the lake-side one morning, and Anna plucked a pretty blue flower just opening there, and gave it to Red-Bird.

“’Tis the first herald of autumn,” said Weetano. “The gentian opens for the corn-dance, and Oliwibatuc will soon go to his tribe. Would that Red-Bird might stay in the lodge with Pale-Lily until the feast of the braves is over! She cannot dress the lodge of the chief—Weetano is weary;” and the Indian girl burst into tears.

“You are sick, darling Red-Bird,” said Anna, taking her hand in a caressing manner. “Tell me what is the matter, and I will nurse you, for you are all the sister I have here in this distant home. You are not afraid to trust me, Weetano?”

“No! Weetano love the pale face! Listen, she will whisper all! Next moon the Mohawk chief will spread the corn-feast, and the Huron warriors will come with their braves to smoke the pipe with our tribe, and bury the bloody tomahawk! ’Tis a hundred moons since our fathers took it up, but the young chief of the Hurons sent presents to the Mohawk’s wigwam, and comes to seek his daughter; Oliwibatuc has sent back the belt of friendship, and Weetano must go to the lodge of Owanaw, to make sure the bonds of the warriors. She had sooner die, for the shadow of her pale brother will go with her to the land of spirits; but it will not follow her to a warrior’s wigwam—for he loves not the bow and tomahawk.”

“But your father will not force you to go, Weetano; why do you speak so mournfully?”

“His word was pledged more than twenty moons ago. A warrior breaks not his word! Weetano was a gay child then, and loved the feast and the dance of the braves. But she has learned another life now—her new brother has awakened it, and she reads it in Pale-Lily’s book; but Oliwibatuc will shut his ears and be angry, and Weetano must go. She is the last of his race, and must wed a warrior.”

There was a mournful look of despair depicted on the countenance of the Indian maiden as she uttered these last words, that went to the heart of Anna—and she sought to divert her from the unwelcome theme, by telling her stories of her first home over the blue waters. After exhausting many a topic, she told her of the beautiful peasant-boy who had been her companion for years, and the story of his persecuted people, and of his little sister, whose fate he had so often bewailed in her childish ears. She then told her she would sing her a song he had learnt her of his own wild hills; but before she had proceeded far, Weetano stopped her with an exclamation of delight.

“My pale brother sings the Lily’s song at the silence of nightfall in the lodge of Oliwibatuc! He, too, came over the great waters, but he speaks the words of the French.”

A sudden thought flashed through the mind of Anna, flushing her cheek with crimson at first, and then leaving it paler than before. “Could it be possible!” she thought; “but no, the idea was preposterous! The Canadians were all French—many of them would, doubtless, sing the songs of their own mountain peasantry!” The object of her young imaginings had probably gone back to his native valley, if, indeed, he had escaped the hands of the new Stuart: and so the thought was dismissed with a sigh.

Weetano was right in her conjecture that Oliwibatuc would soon return to his tribe, as his directions next morning proved; but the old chief read plainly in his daughter’s countenance a reluctance to comply, which he attributed to the parting from her white friend. “Red-Bird is the daughter of warriors;” said the old chief, reprovingly! “Doth she carry a faint heart in her breast?”

“No,” she replied; “but Weetano is weary, and her way is in the mist! She can no longer lay the couch for the warriors, or spread the cup for the braves! Let her stay until the feast is over, for she hears the voice of spirits, and is no longer a mate for the young eagle of the Hurons!”

There was stern pride in the look of the chief, but he only replied, “The maiden will go to her lodge with Oliwibatuc! The Pale-Lily will come thither to the corn-feast with her father!” No other word was spoken—and the chief, with his party, went his way.

Lord Temple and his daughter were both highly pleased with the Mohawk’s invitation to be present at the corn-dance, and witness the meeting of tribes long hostile, at the feast of peace. Oliwibatuc had promised to send a convoy of braves to conduct them thither, but the anticipated pleasure could not remove from Anna’s mind the mournful tone of Red-Bird, and the words still haunted her memory, “Weetano must dwell in the Huron’s lodge to make sure the bonds of peace. She would sooner die.” And she wondered much whether the poor girl would really undergo so great a sacrifice. Could not her pale brother save her? Why had she not counseled Weetano to make a confident of him?

From thoughts like these she was one day aroused by her father, who observed, “There is something on the lake that appears like a canoe; but it cannot be the Mohawks, for it wants nearly two weeks of the time specified for our visit. They may be stragglers from some other tribe come to fish in the Mohawks’ waters.”

“But is there no danger, father? In our long security I fancied I had become a stranger to fear; but I find it revives upon the least suspicion of evil. I am really less courageous than I imagined!”

“There is no cause for alarm, Anna. We have injured none—have defrauded none. Moreover, an Indian will not harm a Quaker—and our garb at least is true.”

They watched the boat, and half an hour afterward saw it approaching the cottage, when they recognized the hawk’s-feathers—the well-known badge of the Mohawks, and they strove in vain to conjecture the cause of their sudden appearance. It gained the landing-place, and to their surprise, there sprang on shore a gentleman, clad in the garb of their own nation. He paused a moment, as if giving some directions to those he left behind, and then advanced rapidly toward the abode of the emigrant. Lord Temple went forth to meet him, and Anna stole a cautious peep at the stranger whom her father had gone to welcome. There was something mysteriously familiar in that stranger’s look, as her father’s greeting fell on his ears, and a faint smile passed over his features; by that smile he was recognized. She had never seen but one like it—it was the same; and she sprang out, exclaiming, “Do you not know him, father! We knew him well in dear old England, and I know him even here! ’Tis Francois Waldo—my old playmate, and teacher, too;” and the next moment they were clasped in each other’s arms—and Anna was shedding the happiest tears that had ever dimmed her eyes, whilst her father looked on in bewildered amazement, scarcely able to determine whether the scene was real, or one of the strange phantasms of slumber.

After recovering a little from his astonishment, however, he said, “Whence come you, my son, and how in the world did you discover our hiding-place? Strange! that the first white face which has greeted us since our flight, should be that of a dear old friend! But, tell me—how came you here among the Quakers, as rigid a Puritan as you were educated under our good Lord Protector?” And Lord Temple greeted the new comer with a hearty shake of the hand, accompanied with a significant glance at his own altered attire!

“I came hither, my lord, with your friends, the Mohawks, among whom I have been for nearly a year captive. I have had suspicions that their new pale face friends might possibly be yourselves, since Weetano showed me the volume which she said the White Lily had given her—for on the cover was the name of Anna Temple. Still, with all my inquiries, I could ascertain nothing with certainty, for the old chief said you were ‘Blue Jackets!’ meaning Quakers; and that ‘on the head of his new brother, John Brown, had fallen much snow.’ I remembered you with raven locks, and thought not of the changes a few years will sometimes occasion. But tell me a little of your wanderings, for time urges me back. Let me first, however, state the immediate cause of this visit. Weetano is ill, and she has entreated her father to send for Anna to his lodge, that she may hear her talk again before she goes to be the companion of spirits. The old chief is sorely afflicted, for she is his only child, and he was soon to have sealed with her hand an alliance with his warlike neighbors, the Hurons. The young brave to whom she is betrothed will soon be there; but, if I can read the Indian girl aright, she shrinks from the coming of Owanaw, though in my hearing she has never spoken of him. However, she has nothing to fear, for she will soon change her dwelling for a long resting-place. Consumption is upon her. Will you return with me, Anna? Can you undergo the privations of an Indian wigwam for a few days?”

“O, gladly! gladly! May I not go, father, to nurse poor Weetano a little, or will you feel too lonely in my absence?”

“I certainly should prefer to have Francois remain with us,” replied Lord Temple, “but Oliwibatuc has been a faithful friend; if his daughter is sick, you shall go if he desires it; I believe I can entrust you a few days with your old companion. But how is the journey to be performed, my child? You surely cannot walk from the opposite lake-shore?”

“Oliwibatuc ordered his trusty warriors to bear her as they bore Red-Bird on her return,” replied Francois. “I will see that she is not overwearied, and secure from accident. Her carriage shall be made firm, and I will be her footman—she shall be the Lady Anna again!”

Her father proposed sending one of the old carriage-horses round by Carle, but the young people would not listen to the plan, for it would delay their journey at least a whole day; and so Nurse Judy was ordered to put up some medicine for Red-Bird, with a few articles of necessary clothing for Anna—and in a little time they were crossing the blue water, Anna in a canoe with her father, who crossed the lake with them, and Francois, with the dusky Mohawks, among whom he was a great favorite, for many a deed of kindness and charity had this young captive-minister done for their tribe.

The close of the second day found them approaching the Mohawk village, and the journey had been performed with the greatest ease by Anna—indeed, two pleasanter days she had not passed since the green lawns of England had been exchanged for the western forest. Waldo had been accompanied by eight young warriors, who, according to the fashion of their nation, had constructed a light carriage of green boughs and branches interwoven, which was alternately carried forward by four of their number, without the least inconvenience or fatigue. Borne along thus by her fantastic guides, she felt not the least emotion of fear. By her side was one who watched her with the most unwearied care—who plucked for her every flower in the wild pathway, and brought her water from each cool spring. It was the living form of one whose image had often been with her in dreams, when the spirit’s messengers link again the parted in sweet companionship. They recounted to each other the story of their wanderings, and each felt that time and absence and sorrow had but strengthened the ties of youthful affection; and the dark eye of Francois had not been so lit up with sunshine since the days long gone by, when his simple mountain reed awoke a hundred echoes in the ear of the happy peasant-boy of the Alps!

Anna, too, was happy. O, how happy! as she read in the earnest gaze ever fixed upon her that it was her presence that had imparted unwonted color to the pale cheek, and additional lustre to the dark eye—but mournful memories would come flashing over her mind, and the low, confiding tones of Red-Bird would sound again in her ears—“Weetano has looked on the face of her pale brother, and the image of her brave has faded from her heart”—and for the first time she felt in her spirit a rising of selfishness. Poor Anna—there was a bitter struggle, but brief; and her better nature was triumphant! No wonder, she thought, the forest-maiden should love the fair-browed captive who had come to her father’s wigwam and saved her life! No wonder her ardent, grateful heart should treasure up the rich, low tones of her preserver, and turn with sickening disgust from the stranger Huron! And, then she thought of Weetano, sick and wasting away perhaps with an untold sorrow, and she wished in her heart the love of her red friend had been requited, even though the bright spark she had so long nursed in her own breast had gone out in another’s joy. The daughter of the Indian chief was a fit mate for the gifted or noble of any nation—one such had already shone with peerless lustre at a royal court, and Weetano was as rich in beauty and intellect as the far-famed daughter of Powhatten!

Such were the thoughts that rapidly coursed through Anna’s brain, and when her companion announced to her that they were already in view of the village, and that Weetano was coming forth to meet them, her heart leaped only with gladness—not a trace of its tumultuous workings remained! She soon descried her friend, supported by the old chief, followed by a long train of warriors. She had been borne forth on a couch to the outskirts of the village to await the Pale-Lily, and now, weak and feeble as she was, at her earnest entreaty, had been permitted to walk forward a few steps to meet and welcome her.

As they drew near Oliwibatuc stepped forward and courteously presented a belt of wampum; and Anna, seeing her friend for the moment unsupported, sprang forward, and clasping her in her arms, exclaimed—

“You, darling sick, Red-Bird! I have come to nurse you in your own home.”

“Pale-Lily has come in time,” she calmly replied. “The summer is over, and the song of Red-Bird will cease with the early frost. But you are weary now—come to the feast of Oliwibatuc.”

The couch of Weetano was now brought forward, and she was laid gently thereon, and supported by her father on one side, and on the other by Francois and Anna, followed by those of her tribe who had come forth to welcome the “Lily of the Pale face,” she was borne back to her father’s wigwam. Here a feast had been spread in honor of the expected guest, of every variety which river and forest afforded, and a soft, downy mat was spread for her and Weetano beside the old chief, who seemed pleased to see Anna smiling familiarly on the dusky warriors whom she recognized as Oliwibatuc’s companions of the past summer.

The meal was taken in silence, and at its close Red-Bird took Anna by the hand and led her to a soft couch of furs, tastefully spread over with embroidered blankets, side by side with her own.

“The way was long for the weak Lily,” she said in pleasant accents, “she must rest; Weetano will watch her first slumber—it will be secure in the lodge of the Mohawk chief. She will not fear,” added she, in an inquiring manner; and placing her hand at the same time in hers, Anna was struck with its mortal coldness.

“Why, you are cold, Weetano,” said she, pressing the hand affectionately, “it is you who most need rest, and I came to watch beside you—not you with me.”

“Only to-night, white maiden; Red-Bird has spread your couch with her own hands to-day, and when she has seen you sleep she will lie down on her couch beside you happy, though her heart is frozen, and its streams are fast wasting. Slumber will revive the weary Lily, and Weetano will sing her a song of the Great Spirit. She has learned it of her white brother.”

Thus prevailed on, Anna Temple lay down on the downy bed her friend had spread for her, but she felt no disposition to sleep, for too many thoughts came crowding thickly on her mind, and when, to her surprise, the child of the dusky Mohawk half sung, half chanted the “Cradle Hymn of the Shepherds,” in a voice wildly musical, it brought back with overpowering force the hours of her childhood and the dimly remembered tones of her mother’s voice, for that hymn had often been her lullaby. She buried her face in the blankets, but in spite of her utmost efforts her sobs reached the sharp ear of her companion, who paused quickly in her hymn.

“Does the song of Red-Bird make the tired Lily weep? She meant it not so—but the wounded bird has ever a mournful strain. She will sing no more!”

“Nay, nay, dear Weetano, it is not that; but long years ago my mother used to sing me that hymn, and it seemed so very strange that its echo should come back to me far away in these dim old woods. Francois Waldo must have heard it, too, among the Alpine hills.”

At the mention of that name Weetano started slightly, and looking earnestly at Anna, said—“I remember those words—the Frenchman spoke them—they mean my pale brother. You knew him, then, over the great waters?”

“Yes, Weetano. I knew him there. His enemies burnt his home and murdered his parents—then he fled to my country for shelter. Did I not tell you once of the peasant-boy and his poor little sister Christine? He used to be my tutor there, in my first home—that is all, Weetano.”

“Nay, maiden, doth thy heart whisper truly? Listen! When he read the name on the beautiful book which the Lily gave to Red-Bird, his brow grew whiter, and his eyelids quivered like the poplar before the storm. ’Tis not every breath that moves my brother!”

The shrewd girl’s artifice revealed a truth which the lips denied, and the heart would fain have concealed; but those few words had called it forth, and it was written on every lineament of her face too plainly for an eye less penetrating than an Indian’s to have mistaken its import. Weetano smiled meaningly on her confused and trembling companion, and continued—

“Why would you hang mist before the eyes of Red-Bird? Did she not trust the white maiden, and does she suppose the daughter of the Mohawk cannot hold her tongue?”

“Nay, nay; you wrong me, Weetano. ’Tis but now I learned that my old companion dwelt in the Mohawk’s lodge. Had not my sister already told me before, ‘that she had looked on the face of her white brother and a new life had been awakened in her heart.’ Should the Lily pluck the sweet morsel from the taste of Red-Bird? No, she is not so selfish—she would sooner feed her with her own heart’s food.”

“But the food is poison for Weetano, she will not eat it,” persisted she, somewhat mournfully. “My brother loves the fair maiden of his own land—why should he not! Oliwibatuc, too, would have given his daughter to a dog sooner than to an idle ‘book man.’ When he brought the hatchet and bow of my dead brother and gave them to his captive, he turned away from them and spoke the words of peace, and the warrior sighed—‘Who will hang the trophies of Olo in his father’s wigwam? By his true spirit Weetano shall wed a brave, and he shall be the chief of the Mohawks instead of Olo!’ He has spoken, but the Great Spirit loves Weetano, and will not give her to the Huron, for he will soon lay her beside the still waters to slumber, and the Lily shall bloom for my new brother. Nay, do not weep so—the eye of Weetano can now see the path plainly, and the way looks pleasant, but she was sorry to leave her new brother alone, for though he toils hard to do the Mohawks good they are not his own people, and I know he must sometimes be very sad and lonely. It was for this I plead for him to bring you hither; I knew you were his spirit-mate, and longed to see you both happy.”

Anna Temple gazed long and earnestly on the beautiful face that bent over her couch, but was unable to trace thereon a shadow of emotion; its expression was calm and unvarying, and though the clear, dark eyes sparkled brightly, the light they shed was as the brightness of a silver fountain that reflects the moonbeams from its surface soft and almost holy. Her own heart beat wildly, and when she attempted to speak, her voice was choked and broken with sobs.

“O, Weetano, do not speak so low and mournfully,” she at length uttered. “You will still live and be happy, you are so good and true! Nurse Judy has sent some medicine, and I know well how to administer it; then I have something else to offer beside; so bend down your ear close to me, Weetano, and I will whisper it.”

Weetano did as she was desired, and whatever the words of her companion might have been, they had no effect on the Indian girl, for when she raised her head the same serene smile rested on her features.

“The heart of Red-Bird would be weak, indeed, to listen to the words,” she replied. “The white maiden has not read it rightly, for its pride is as stern as the rock of her mountains, that may be broken but cannot be bowed. It fears not the blast! Weetano’s heart is like it—it will bide its lot.”

“And its lot may yet be happy—yea, I am persuaded it will be, only do not indulge in dark fancies, Weetano.”

“Weetano has no dark fancies now! Sunshine has broken through the dim future since the words of the Lily’s book fell on her ears. The shadowy land has no fears now, and beautiful images beckon me there in slumber! Weetano will come again with messages of good to the Lily and her pale brother, for they taught her the way.”

The next morning Anna awoke early, and refreshed, although her slumber had not been unbroken; for whenever she stirred the dark eyes of Weetano were fixed upon her with the same placid smile that had greeted her coming, and sorely, bitterly did her heart ache for the poor creature who regarded her with an affection so earnest and grateful. She feigned sleep at length, fearing her friend would become exhausted with care for her, but when the low, soft breathing of Weetano assured her she had relapsed from her watching, she turned away from her and wet her couch with tears. When she awoke in the morning, Weetano still slept, and she arose noiselessly, lest she might disturb her; but when some time passed and she still betrayed no signs of waking, Anna seated herself beside her couch, murmuring softly, “This sleep will do her good—she looks so happy now.” Her dark, glossy locks had fallen over her forehead, and she stroked them gently back, smiling on the beautiful picture before her, for though the cheek of Weetano had lost its roundness, the outline was still perfect, and still she was marvelously beautiful.

An hour or more passed on, and Anna had not left the side of the sleeping maiden. Over her features brooded the same tranquil repose, so hushed indeed, that she would often bend down her ear to catch the low breathing, and satisfy her mind that there was nothing unnatural in a repose so profound. Without she heard the murmur of voices, and cautious footsteps, for only a hanging of skins separated them from the large, open space where the feast had been spread the evening previous, and where breakfast was now preparing. At length an old Indian woman peeped cautiously from behind the curtain, and seeing Anna already dressed, she came forward with a look of surprise that her companion was yet sleeping.

“What!” said she, “is not the daughter of the chief risen? ’Tis her custom to rise with the dawn; she must be weary with the labor of yesterday. Oliwibatuc gave orders not to disturb you, thinking the white maiden would need rest; but Red-Bird has slept long now, we will break her slumber. Weetano, Weetano!” said the Indian woman, “the sun is high in the east, ’tis time the Lily should eat something, Oliwibatuc has called for his daughter.”

A smothered murmur escaped from her lips, like one half aroused to consciousness, and the eyelids unclosed for a moment, but were soon heavy with sleep again.

“Wake up, wake up, Weetano,” continued she, “the morning is fair, and the air as fragrant as the month of flowers. The chief will take you forth to sail on the river—wake up maiden.”

Weetano breathed a low sigh, and there was a struggle, like one who strives to burst a charm. The effort seemed ineffectual, but she spoke faintly, “Weetano is weary, Zohah—leave her to rest a little.”

“Yes, let her rest,” whispered Anna, “she will gain strength, and I will watch beside her until she awakens.”

“The maiden sleeps strangely,” muttered the old woman, as she retreated behind the curtain, leaving Anna to resume her watch.

Another hour passed by, and she ventured to lift the hand that had fallen over the blankets of her couch—it was soft and warm as a slumbering infant’s. She pressed it in her own, whispering, “Weetano, Weetano!” and a happy smile passed over the features of her companion, and the pressure of her hand was gently returned. “She must have watched longer than I supposed,” thought Anna, “and is exhausted with the effort; it would be wrong to disturb her.”

She arose and lifted the curtain, for it was growing late, and she began to feel faint and weary herself; no one was to be seen, and she went forward to the open air. Oliwibatuc was sitting on the ground, at a little distance from the lodge, with a number of his warriors in an idle manner, but when he saw Anna standing in the door of the wigwam, he came forward with a smile on his dark, grim features, and said—“The Lily has slumbered long; was she wearied with her journey through the woods?”

“No, chief, very little,” she replied. “’Tis Red-Bird who is fatigued, and she still slumbers; I have watched her for hours, but her sleep was so quiet I would not waken her.”

“Why, what aileth the maiden,” he exclaimed; “she was never last to leave her couch, but her song has been sad of late, and her feet have trod lightly in the wood-paths. She hath leaned on the strong for support. I will rouse her myself, while Zohah helps you to break the long fast of the morning.”

Anna partook lightly of some refreshments from the hand of Zohah, while the chief went to Red-Bird; but he soon returned with a satisfied air, saying, “She sleeps well; I will let her rest until we go forth with the canoe on the river.”

The sun was high in the heaven and the daughter of the chief had not awakened! Hour after hour had Anna Temple lingered by the low bed-side, while her repose seemed only deepening, and an indefinite fear crept over her—a mysterious sense of evil, and she felt sad and lonely. Near the curtain sat the old chief, for he, too, seemed ill at ease, and Anna put aside the skin hanging, and said—

“Shall not we rouse her now, chief; she must require nourishment, and this long sleep alarms me!”

“Say you so, maiden; the slumber must then be broken, for I, too, have fears! Wake up, Red-Bird!” said he, advancing toward her, “’tis noonday, you must not sleep;” and he shook her gently by the shoulder.

She partially opened her eyes, murmuring as before—“Weetano is weary—let her rest.”

“Take some food, first, Weetano,” said Anna, imploringly; “don’t go to sleep again for I am very lonely.”

The sound of her voice seemed to reanimate her for a moment, and looking round, she said, “Where is my brother?”

“Gone,” said the chief, “to his daily toil, (for every day he visited the sick of the tribe,) but he will be here soon to go forth with us on the river. Rouse up then.” But the head of Weetano was drooping again like a sleeping flower.

“Drop the curtain, and let in more air and light,” said Anna in a beseeching tone, “she is faint and languid; something must be done to revive her. What can we do!”

“Send for the ‘medicine man,’” said old Zohah; “he will arouse her if any one can.”

“Yes, send for Francois Waldo quickly,” exclaimed Anna Temple; “his voice may have power to break this dreadful slumber.”

Oliwibatuc made a motion with his hand for some one to depart, but his eyes were fixed earnestly on the prostrate form of his daughter. “Raise her up, Zohah,” said he to the old woman, who was wetting her lips with some beverage, “perhaps she will drink.”

They pillowed her up on her couch, and Anna knelt there beside her, taking her hand in her own and supporting her head on her shoulder, while she vainly endeavored to render her conscious by numerous questions. The messenger soon returned, accompanied by the young missionary, who had hastened at the first mention of Weetano’s illness.

“What has been the matter with Red-Bird?” asked he in a whisper, at the same time regarding her closely. “She sleeps quietly now.”

“She has slept thus all day, and will not waken,” replied Anna, bursting into tears. “O, Francois, can you not arouse her?”

“Thus, did you say—has she slept peacefully all day? ’Tis strange,” added he, taking her hand, “her pulse beats well, and her breathing is regular: has she spoken?”

“Two or three times,” replied Zohah. “Once she inquired for you. Let her know you have come.”

“Weetano, Weetano!” said he, bending his lips close to her ear, “speak to your brother, Weetano—he has come back from his toil. Will not his sister welcome him?”

Those tones fell not unheeded; there was another struggle as if to burst the leaden chain, and an expression of happiness spread like sunlight over her features. Her dark eyes were again unsealed, and a momentary brightness fell from beneath the long lashes, as she said faintly, “Weetano heard her brother’s voice in her dream, but she cannot awaken to its music—her slumber is not over;” and her voice died away in a murmur, like the lingering pulsations of a harp, and her head hung heavily.

All through the long afternoon did they labor to break that strange lethargy, but no care or remedy proved successful, and her breath grew shorter and fainter until evening, when she revived a little, and looked consciously on all around. The old chief was near, gazing mournfully on his drooping child, and beside her were Francois Waldo and Anna Temple, upon whom she still leaned for support. She bestowed on each a look of the most earnest affection, then said, in clear, unbroken accents—

“The Lily will brighten my brother’s pathway, but Oliwibatuc will be alone! You will not forsake my father,” continued she, fixing her dark eye on the pale youth before her, inquiringly.

“Never, Weetano, I promise in the sight of heaven, while I live he shall find in me a son to lean upon; he has been as a father to his captive—I will never desert him.”

“I believe you,” she said, pressing his hand to her lips—“Your words are true.” Then placing the hand of Anna Temple in that of her white brother, with a quiet smile she closed her eyes again for their last slumber.

All night the spirit of Weetano clung to its earthly tenement, and the morning found it still hovering around its beautiful abode, as if unwilling to forsake its companionship. The lodge was filled with the sorrowing faces of those who had gathered to obtain a last look of the daughter of their chief, who lay there in their midst like a breathing statue—but while the dew still lingered on the flower, the lips of the sleeper parted gently, her eyelids quivered—a momentary shudder passed over her frame, and the strife was over.

Captive Red-Bird had at last burst her prison bars, and unfolded her wings in the sunnier bowers of the spirit-land. One by one those who had gathered near to witness the last moments of the chief’s daughter went forth, that Oliwibatuc might stand alone in the presence of his dead. Francois and Anna withdrew to a little distance from the couch of the dear departed, and gazed with tearful faces on the old warrior, who stood with a mournful face gazing on the last of his household! He stooped at length, and took the hand, scarcely yet cold, in his own, and, pronounced in an unbroken tone an Indian farewell:

“The Great Spirit help thee on thy journey, my daughter—the way is long and fearful! Thou art a tender bird to try the unseen path alone, but let not thy wing falter in the misty valley, for the blue hills are shining brightly beyond! Pass onward—thy mother hath spread her couch there; thou art the last bird of our nest, and she waiteth for thee! Tell her—her warrior hath dwelt alone in his wigwam since we laid her by the quiet river! Tell her—that thou alone hast been the sunbeam of his lodge, and hast spread the couch of the weary! O, Weetano! thy father is lonely now—why didst thou go before him to the dwelling-place of the happy? The hunter will come to his wigwam weary at evening, but the torch will not be lighted, for Weetano will not be there! His cup will be empty, and his board desolate! No song shall lull him to slumber, for Red-Bird has gone to her mother!”

The old chief’s voice faltered here, for the first time; and he bowed his head. They saw him brush a tear from his eye—then another rolled down his dusky face, and Anna would have rushed to his side to pour forth her sympathy, had not Francois withheld her—he knew, better than her, the customs of the people among whom he dwelt, that they share with none their woes, but bear their burden alone. The momentary struggle was past, and Oliwibatuc spoke again, calmly, but with lower, sadder tone.

“Weetano, thou hast led us in all thy beauty! Thou hast gathered up the flowers of a few summers—but the great snows have not fallen on thee! I will lay thee gently by thy mother, and the braves shall rear the green mound, where I will sit with my bow at evening, gazing on the bright hills of the far south-west. Farewell! Weetano, I go to make thy grave by the river-side!”

He drew himself up to his full height, and passed slowly out of his wigwam, and Anna now went forward, and stood sobbing by the couch where darling Red-Bird lay as in a peaceful slumber. How short to her the period since she first beheld her a creature radiant with health and beauty—the fleetest fawn of the wilderness—the gayest bird on the wing! But how soon had all this glory and beauty departed. Weetano had lived, loved, suffered, and died. Thus had she fulfilled her woman’s lot; early indeed—but fully and truly. There remained but to lay her in her last resting-place, according to the custom of her nation, without coffin or shroud—but what matter? Beside her grave the clear tones of the young Vaudois preacher pronounced—“The dead shall be raised,” and as his voice went up in prayer, there, in the mighty forest, the red warriors looked at him in wondering silence, and the captive “Book Man” was a mystery.

——