University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE DEATH-BED.

Anxiously as the sun was going down, did Mrs. Wilder
watch from her window for the return of her daughter,
and as the gray twilight deepened into night, and still
she came not, the whole household was alarmed, and
every house in the settlement was visited, to learn, if possible,

some tidings of the wanderer. Some remembered
having seen her enter the woods soon after dinner, but
farther than that none could tell; and the loud, shrill cry
of “Lost! lost! A child lost in the woods!” echoed on
the evening air, and brought from a distance many who
joined in the unsuccessful search, which lasted all night.
Morning came, and Mrs. Wilder, pale and distracted with
grief, ran hither and thither, calling loudly for her lost
darling.

Three hours of the sun's daily journey was accomplished,
when a young Indian was seen to emerge from the woods,
and rapidly approach the house of Capt. Wilder, where
he communicated all he knew concerning Orianna, and
ended his narrative by saying, “It will be useless to follow
her.”

But Capt. Wilder did not think so, and instantly mounting
his horse, he started in pursuit; but the path he took
was entirely different from the one chosen by Orianna,
and at night-fall he returned home, weary and discouraged.
For some time he had been contemplating a visit to his
brother, and he now resolved to do so, hoping by this
means to fall in with the fugitives. Mrs. Wilder warmly
approved the plan, but made him promise that if no good
news were heard of Ella, he would instantly return.

Taking with him two negroes, he started on his journey,
but no trace of Orianna did he discover, and he
reached Glen's Creek before she had accomplished half
the distance. Assured by his brother's family of Ella's
perfect safety with the Indian girl, he grew calm, although
he impatiently waited their coming.

Meantime, little Charlie had grown worse, until at last
he ceased to speak of Ella, although he confidently expected
to see her, and requested that his bed might be
moved to a position from which he could discern the path

which led up from the woods. There for many days he
watched, and then turning sadly away, he said, “Mother,
now take me back. Ella will come, but I shall be dead.”

From that time he grew worse, and the afternoon on
which we left Orianna and Ella in the woods was the last
he ever saw on earth. Gathered around the dying boy
were weeping friends, who knew that the mild spring sun
which so gently kissed his cold, pale brow, would never
rise again for him. Kind words he had spoken to all, and
then in a faint whisper, he said, “Tell Ella —;” but
the sentence was unfinished, for Ella stood before him,
while the look of joy that lighted up his face told how
dear to him was the little girl around whose neck his arms
twined so lovingly.

And now a darker face, but not less loving heart, approached,
and whispered softly, “Charlie, do you know
me?”

“Orianna,” was the answer, as on her lips a kiss was
pressed.

Then the arms unclasped from Ella's neck, over the
blue eyes the heavy eyelids closed, and Charlie had gone
home. With a bitter wail of sorrow Orianna bent for a
moment over the marble form, for which she had sacrificed
so much, and then, from among those who fain would
have detained her, she went, nor paused for a moment,
until the wigwam of her father was reached.

In the doorway she found Narretta, whose first exclamation
was, “Have you heard? Have they told you?
The Great Spirit has answered my prayer!” and then to
her daughter she unfolded a tale which we, too, will narrate
to our readers.

It will be remembered that on the day when Orianna
left home for Virginia, Narretta accompanied her a short
distance, and learned from her the story of her love for

Robert. To tnat story there was another,—an unobserved
listener,—Wahlaga, who from that hour resolved
to take the life of his pale rival, but his designs were foiled
by a summons from the invisible world, which he could
not disobey.

A week after Orianna's departure, he was taken ill of
a disease contracted at the Indian camp, where he had
spent the winter. All the skill of the “medicine man”
could not save him, and on the fifth day he died, cursing,
with his last breath, his hated rival.

When it was known at Deacon Wilder's that death had
been at Grassy Spring, words of kindly sympathy were
sent there for the sake of the noble Orianna; and for her
sake, perhaps, Owanno's feelings softened toward the inhabitants
of Glen's Creek. It is impossible to describe
Orianna's feelings on learning that the dreadful Wahlaga
was dead, really dead, and would trouble her no more.
Her whole being seemed changed, and the slumber which
that night stole o'er her was sweeter far and more refreshing,
than for many weary days had visited her.

At Glen's Creek that same night Capt. Wilder, with
his darling Ella pressed to his bosom, was listening, while
between her tears for little Charlie, she told him of the
many virtues of her Indian companion, urging him to
send for her mother, that she, too, might know and love
Orianna. But Ella's strength was exhausted long before
her theme, and when, as her voice ceased, her father
looked down upon her, she was far in the depths of
dreamland.