“‘Gladly, brother,’ she replied, ‘but hast thou brought me any beads or ornaments from the colony?’ “‘No, thou art too good and comely to need these trifles. Thy lover will prize thee more without them.’ “‘Thou art mistaken, brother, for Potawissa loves to see my dark hair braided with beads, and their bright strings encircling my neck. Thy talk will do for the white fawns, with their cheeks like the wild rose and foreheads like the mountain snow; but the darker hue of Indian maids wants other ornaments.’ “‘Thou hast well described the white fawns, sister,’ answered the young chief, ‘and shalt indeed have a gay necklace; but thou hast never heard the song of her who is brightest among them. Why the blest sounds on the air, which are said to call our fathers to the spirit-land on high, are not sweeter.’ “‘Hush, hush,’ cried Oskwena, ‘how canst thou talk thus? I would not hear her strain, for it hath sadly altered thee.’ “The bright visions of Wiccónsat were soon dispelled, for, with the next vessel from England, arrived a young relative of Rosalie’s family, who brought news of their having succeeded to an estate in their native country, to take possession of which they now made preparations to leave America. The charms of the maiden made an immediate impression on the heart of the young and accomplished Briton. His amiable qualities soon won her love, and, with the approval of her parents, it was arranged that their marriage should take place on their arrival in England. “The sad intelligence soon reached Wiccónsat, to whom the grateful family had shown many marks of attachment, little suspecting the sorrows they were preparing for the youthful chief. They knew not the secret homage of his heart, for its trembling hopes had never been breathed to the beautiful object of his love. In the innocence of grateful friendship, she presented him with an embroidered belt worked by her own hands, and assured him that she would never forget her generous preserver.—But when the day of their departure had arrived, and sorrowful friends crowded the vessel’s deck to take their last farewell, Wiccónsat was not there. Rosalie and her parents shed tears of regret, as the sails were spreading to waft them from their happy American home, and as their eyes sought its peaceful roof, they discovered near it, on a point of the river’s shore, the solitary figure of the young chief. It was at this spot he had rescued the maiden from a watery grave. She eagerly waved her white handkerchief in token of farewell, and the next moment saw the belt she had given him, floating on the air in a returning adieu. In a few minutes the vessel parted from the shore.