"Zoe! Zoe! are you awake? Do you lie sleepless on your soft couch? or am I present in your dreams? Do you long for my return, as I to hasten it? Oh, that the night were past! I cannot wait for rest. I could ride on sleepless--tireless--on--on!" My eye rested upon the features of Adele, upturned and shining in the blaze of the fire. I traced the outlines of her sister's face: the high, noble front, the arched eyebrow, and the curving nostril. But the brightness of complexion was not there; the smile of angelic innocence was not there. The hair was dark, the skin browned; and there was a wildness in the expression of the eye, stamped, no doubt, by the experience of many a savage scene. Still was she beautiful, but it was beauty of a far less spiritual order than that of my betrothed. Her bosom rose and fell in short, irregular pulsations. Once or twice, while I was gazing, she half awoke, and muttered some words in the Indian tongue. Her sleep was troubled and broken. During the journey, Seguin had waited upon her with all the tender solicitude of a father; but she had received his attentions with indifference, or at most regarded them with a cold thankfulness. It was difficult to analyse the feelings that actuated her. Most of the time she remained silent and sullen. The father endeavoured, once or twice, to resuscitate the memories of her childhood, but without success; and with sorrow at his heart he had each time relinquished the attempt. I thought he was asleep. I was mistaken. On looking more attentively in his face, I saw that he was regarding her with deep interest, and listening to the broken phrases that fell from her lips. There was a picture of sorrow and anxiety in his look that touched me to the heart. As I watched him, the girl murmured some words, to me unintelligible, but among them I recognised the name "Dacoma." I saw that Seguin started as he heard it. "Poor child!" said he, seeing that I was awake; "she is dreaming, and a troubled dream it is. I have half a mind to wake her out of it." "She needs rest," I replied. "Ay, if that be rest. Listen! again `Dacoma.'" "It is the name of the captive chief." "Ay; they were to have been married according to their laws." "But how did you learn this?" "From Rube: he heard it while he was a prisoner at the town." "And did she love him, do you think?" "No. It appears not. She had been adopted as the daughter of the medicine chief, and Dacoma claimed her for a wife. On certain conditions she was to have been given to him; but she feared, not loved him, as her words now testify. Poor child! a wayward fate has been hers." "In two journeys more her sufferings will be over. She will be restored to her home, to her mother." "Ah! if she should remain thus it will break the heart of my poor Adele." "Fear not, my friend. Time will restore her memory. I think I have heard of a parallel circumstance among the frontier settlements of the Mississippi."