University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY.

Charlie's health, which had always been delicate,
seemed much impaired by the Kentucky air, but with the
return of winter, there came the hacking cough and darting
pain, and Orianna already foresaw the time when,
with a flood of bitter tears, she would lay her darling in
the grave. The meetings in the woods were given up,
and if Orianna saw her pet at all, it was in his home,
where she at length became a regular visitor, and where
Marian daily taught her as Charlie had before done.
Many were the lessons learned in the sick-room where
Charlie lay, fading day by day, and many were the talks
which he had with his Indian friend concerning the God
whose power she questioned. But from the time when
she was able herself to read in Charlie's bible, the light
of truth slowly broke over her darkened mind.

From the commencement of Charlie's illness, he looked

upon death as sure, and his young heart went back to his
playmate, Ella, with earnest longings, which vented themselves
in pleadings that some one would go for her,—
would bring her to him and let him look upon her once
more ere he died. 'Twas in vain that his mother tried to
convince him of the impossibility of such a thing. He
would only answer, “I shall not know her in heaven, unless
I see her again, for I have almost forgotten how she
looked.”

Winter was gone, and Charlie, no longer able to sit up,
lay each day in his bed, talking of heaven and Ella, whom
he now scarcely hoped to see again. One afternoon Orianna
lingered longer than usual, in low, earnest conversation
with the sufferer. Charlie listened eagerly to what
she was saying, while his eye sparkled and his fading
cheek glowed as with the infusion of new life. As she
was about leaving she whispered, softly, “Never fear;
though the time be long, I will surely bring her.”

Yes, Orianna had resolved to go alone through the wilderness
to Virginia, and bring to the dying boy the little
Ella. Filled with this idea, she hastened home; but list,
—whose voice is it, that on the threshold of her father's
door makes her quake with fear? Ah, Orianna kens full
well that 'tis Wahlaga! He has returned to claim his
bride, and instantly visions of the pale, dying Charlie, the
far off Ella, and of one, too, whose name she scarcely
dared breathe, rose before her, as in mute agony she
leaned against the door.

But her thoughts soon resolved themselves into one
fixed determination—“I will never marry him;” and
then with a firm step she entered the cabin. Wahlaga

must have guessed her feelings, for he greeted her moodily,
and immediately left her with her parents. To her
father, she instantly confided her plan of going for Ella,
and as she had expected, he sternly forbade it, saying she
should stay and marry Wahlaga.

Owanno was surprised at the decided manner with
which Orianna replied, “Never, father, never. I will
die in the deep river first.”

At this juncture Wahlaga entered, and the discussion
grew warmer and more earnest. Words more angry the
chieftain spoke to his daughter than ever before he had
done. Suddenly his manner softened, and concerning her
going for Ella, he said, “If you marry Wahlaga, you can
go; otherwise you cannot, unless you run away.”

“And if she does that,” fiercely continued Wahlaga,
“I swear by the Great Spirit, I'll never rest until I've
shed the blood of every pale-face in that nest—sick whining
boy and all.”

Like one benumbed by some great and sudden calamity,
Orianna stood speechless, until her father asked,
“Will you go?”

Then, rousing herself, she said, “I cannot answer now;
wait till to-morrow.” Then forth from the cabin she went,
and onward through the fast deepening twilight she fled,
until through an opening in the trees she espied the light
which gleamed from Charlie's sick-room. Softly approaching
the window, she looked in and saw a sight
which stopped for a moment the tumultuous beatings of
her heart, and wrung from her a shriek of anguish. Supported
by pillows lay Charlie, panting for breath, while
slowly from his white lips issued drops of blood, which
Marian gently wiped away, while the rest of the family were
doing what they could to restore him. When Orianna's
loud cry of agony echoed through the room, Charlie

slowly unclosed his eyes, and in an instant the Indian
girl was beside him, exclaiming, wildly, “Charlie, Charlie,
do not die. I'll marry him, I'll go for her, I'll do anything.”

The astonished family at length succeeded in pacifying
her, by telling her that Charlie had, in a fit of coughing,
ruptured a blood vessel, but that there was no immediate
danger if she would keep quiet. Quickly the great agony
of her heart was hushed, and silently she stood by
the bedside; nor did they who looked on her calm face
once dream of the tornado within, or how like daggers
were the words of Charlie, who, in his disturbed sleep,
occasionally murmured, “Ella,—oh, Ella,—has Orianna
gone?—she said she would.”

Suddenly turning to Marian, Orianna, with a pressure
of the hand almost crushing, said, “Tell me what to do?”
and from the little cot, Charlie, all unconsciously answered,
“Go for Ella.”

“I will,” said Orianna, and ere Marian had recovered
from her astonishment, she was gone. When alone in the
forest, she at first resolved to start directly for Virginia,
but the remembrance of Wahlaga's threat prevented her,
and then again in the stilly night the heroic girl knelt and
asked of Charlie's God what she should do.

Owanno was surprised when, at a late hour that night,
Orianna returned, and expressed her willingness to marry
Wahlaga, on condition that she should first go for Ella,
and that he should not follow her.

“What proof have we that you will return?” asked
Wahlaga, who was present.

Orianna's lip curled haughtily, as she answered, “Orianna
never yet broke her word.”

“The tomahawk and death to those you love, if you

fail of coming,” continued the savage, and “Be it so,”
was the reply.

Old Narretta with streaming eyes would fain have interposed
a word for her beloved child, but aught from her
would have been unavailing. So on the poor girl's head,
which drooped heavily upon her lap, she laid her hard,
withered hands, and her tears fell soothingly on the
troubled heart of one who stood in so much need of
sympathy.

With the coming of daylight Orianna departed. Narretta
accompanied her a short distance, and learned from
her how much more than her life she loved the white man,
and that were it not for this, not half so terrible would be
her marriage with Wahlaga.

“I would help you if I could,” said Narretta, “but I cannot,
though each night I will ask the Great Spirit to take
care of you.”

So they parted, Narretta to return to her lone cabin,
and Orianna to pursue her way, she scarce knew whither.
For many days they missed her in the sick-room, where
all but Charlie wondered why she tarried, and he finally
succeeded in convincing them that she had really gone for
Ella, though at what a fearful sacrifice he knew not.