That night, by the wigwam fire, Narretta was listening to her daughter’s account of the “white dove,” as she called Marian. Suddenly a light seemed to dawn on Orianna’s mind, and clasping her hands together she said, “Mother, do you remember when I was sick, many, many moons ago?” “Yes, child,” answered Narretta, and Orianna continued: “I slept a long time, I knew, but when I woke, I remember that you, or some one else, said, “She is getting white; it will never do.” Then I looked at my hands, and they were almost as fair as Marian’s, but you washed me with something, and I was dark again. Tell me, mother, was I turning white?” “_Turning white!_ No child,” said Narretta; “now shut up and get to bed.” Orianna obeyed, but she could not sleep, and about midnight she stole out at the door, and going to the spring, for more than half an hour she bathed her face and hands, hoping to wash off the offensive colour. But all her efforts were vain, and then on the withered leaves she knelt, and prayed to the white man’s God,—the God who, Charlie had said, could do everything. “Make Orianna white, make her white,” were the only words she uttered, but around her heart there gathered confidence that her prayer would be answered, and impatiently she waited for the morrow’s light. “Mother, am I white?” aroused Narretta from her slumbers, just as the first sunlight fell across the floor. “White! No; blacker than ever,” was the gruff answer, and Orianna’s faith in “Charlie’s God” was shaken. CHAPTER XI. PREPARATIONS FOR A JOURNEY. “O’er the forest dark and lonely, Death’s broad wing is brooding now, While each day the shadow deepens Over Charlie’s fevered brow.” 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.