Throughout all the morning she waited in vain for Charlie, although she several times saw Robert at a distance, and felt sure that he was looking for her. She knew that she had saved his life, and this created in her a desire to see him again. Accordingly, when that afternoon they once more came face to face, she did not run, but eagerly asked after her young companion. Robert knew well how to play his part and in a few moments Orianna’s shyness had vanished, and she was answering, with ready obedience, all the questions asked her by the handsome stranger. Ere they parted, Robert had learned that to her he owed his life, and as a token of his gratitude he placed upon her slender finger a plain gold ring. He did not ask her to meet him again next day, but he well knew she would, for she, who knew no evil, thought no evil. As Robert had said, he took Charlie’s place as teacher; but, ah me! the lessons thus taught and received were of a far different nature from the alphabet in Charlie’s picture-book. Many a time, ere that week went by, the simple Indian girl, in the solitude of night, knelt by the streamlet which ran by her father’s door, and prayed the Great Spirit to forgive her for the love which she bore the white man, the enemy of her people;—and he?—why he scarce knew himself what his thoughts and intentions were. He looked upon Orianna as a simple-minded, innocent child; and while he took peculiar delight in studying her character, he resolved that neither in word nor deed would he harm the gentle girl who each day came so timidly to his side. Day after day was his stay at Glen’s Creek protracted, and yet he would not acknowledge that even he was interested in her within whose heart a passion had been awakened, never more to slumber. The day on which he spoke to Charlie of Orianna, was the last which he would spend at Glen’s Creek, and as he did not wish to be alone when he bade her adieu, he asked Charlie to accompany him. Oh, how bright was the smile with which the maiden greeted them at first, and how full of despair was the expression of her face when told by Robert that he must leave her! Not a word did she speak, but closely to her heart she pressed the little Charlie, as if fearful lest he, too, should go. “Farewell, Orianna,” said Robert. “When the nuts are brown upon the trees, look for me, for I shall come again.” A moment more, and he was gone,—gone with poor Orianna’s heart, and left her nothing in return. Covering her face with her hands, she wept so long and bitterly, that Charlie at last wound his arms around her neck, and wept too, although he knew not for what. This token of sympathy aroused her, and after a moment she said, “Leave me now, Charlie; Orianna would be alone.” He arose to obey, when she added, “Don’t tell them,—don’t tell him what you have seen.”