From that hour Wawandah became a changed man. He lived in the wigwam of the White Bear. The beautiful Sunflower was ever before his eyes. Her presence inspired, her soft eye turned in gratitude upon him who had preserved her life, infused animation, if not hope, into his being. He had no other thought, no other desire than to be loved by the Sunflower as by a sister, to be near her, to listen to her sweet voice, to mark the expression of her beautiful eyes, to follow the graceful movements of her tall form—all this he enjoyed, and he was happy. Sustained by her approval, once more the buffalo and the elk fell beneath his unerring rifle, and his honors graced the interior of the tent which the Sunflower decorated with her own hands. Again he was foremost in the race, and left his competitors behind when darting into the swollen stream they buffeted against the strong current that essayed to check their upward progress. In the wrestling-ring no one could equal his dexterity and strength; and where once his foot touched the ball, no opponent could bear from him his prize until it had reached the desired goal. The women were often spectators of these sports, and approved the manliness and activity of the handsome and modest-looking Wawandah, but none more than his newly found sister, the peerless Sunflower of the White Bear. “Strange!” she would muse to herself, as she saw him amidst the loud plaudits of the aged and the young of the warriors, of the matron and of the maid bear off every prize for which he contended—“strange, that before he came to dwell within our wigwam, he was as a child, and even now is a strong man, proud in his own power. It was disappointed love made him weak and uncertain of aim in the chase, he said to the White Bear. What, then, has made him strong, for no love warms him yet but the love of his sister.” The Sunflower sighed; she thought of the eloquent looks he had often cast upon herself, and she endeavored to give a new direction to her thoughts.