“The Prophet is not now dry;” was the answer. “When he drinks again, it will be the blood of the whites. Kenah has no time for talk;—when night comes, Netnokwa and the maidens must set out upon their journey. Let them prepare.” Miskwa had now recovered her firmness of character. It was not the fear of death, which had caused her to tremble in the first instance, for there were many ways in which she would have met it, and died worthy of the race from which she sprung; but it was the indescribable dread produced by the name of the Prophet, with the knowledge that she had incurred his displeasure, and was to be ushered at once into his presence. Gay still wept, and rising, threw herself on the bosom of Miskwa, and begged her to forgive her for the calamity which she had brought upon them. She lamented not her own fate, but seemed only to deplore that of her friends. Miskwa tried to soothe and console her, and repeated to her that Kenah had said the Prophet only wished to see them at his camp. Yet, even while she said so, she felt that he would never have ordered them from so far a distance into his presence, but from some sinister motive; and she then recollected Tecumseh, and hope beamed forth, when she thought of the relation in which she stood towards him. Netnokwa now, leaving her lodge, came out in the open air; Kenah, and his party followed, for their object was to take them off as soon as the night set in, and removing them silently, leave no trace of their departure. Should it be known that Netnokwa was threatened with danger, and was to be dragged away into the presence of the Prophet, Kenah knew that her friends would be instantly in arms, and he with his party, be made to suffer death for the steps they had already taken. This, then, was to be prevented, and stationing themselves on the outside of her cabin, they kept watch, that none of its inmates might escape, and no one approach without their knowledge. While they did this, Netnokwa, now as calm as if no danger awaited her, in deep meditation was silently walking to and fro in front of her door. Though worn with years, there was something so majestic and commanding in her manner, that not a member of Kenah's party but felt its influence. Her figure, tall and thin, was bent by age, and her hair, once of the glossiest black, was now white as the fresh fallen snow, and dishevelled, fell loosely over her shoulders. The sun was fast declining, and Kenah seeing that Netnokwa was making no preparations to commence her journey, said aloud, “When night comes, Netnokwa will set out to see the Prophet. The wise man always prepares for his journey.” Netnokwa was silent; she saw that it was worse than vain, situated as she then was, to oppose their determination, and she entered her wigwam. “Come, my children,” said she, “a few hours more, and they say we must leave. It is for the banks of the Wabash. We go to see the Prophet.