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 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 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 would 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 has never yet broke her word.” “The tomahawk and death to those you love, if you fail in 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.