“Hiram Bradford, you have been spying upon me.” “I was awake,” he returned quietly. “I saw all. You love him.” Her face grew crimson—then paled. “And if I _do_?” she said defiantly. “Nothing,” he answered, his husky voice huskier than usual. “I’m glad you _do_ love him. And—if he live—he shall be yours. You were made for each other.” “Do—do you think he is—is going to die?” she asked falteringly. “No; we two will save him. He’ll learn to love you—the lesson will not be a hard one.” “But——” and she hesitated. “Well?” “He loves another.” “How do you know that?” “I had it from his own lips.” Bradford playfully patted her cheek—which caused Duke to growl menacingly—as he replied: “Pshaw, little one! You must give no heed to the vaporings of a delirious brain. Wait until he’s himself. You’ll see how easily you can win his love. He babbled of you when I was bringing him here.” “Did he?” And a glad light sprang into her eyes. “Yes. Leave everything to me. I’ve been your friend in the past; I’m your friend now. And both of us are _his_ friends. Now go for a walk in the open air—and get some color into your cheeks.” The days and weeks dragged drearily. Ross Douglas did not arise from the depths of fever and delirium, into which his wound had plunged him. Daily he grew weaker and thinner. In spite of the unremitting care of his nurses, he seemed slowly but surely drifting toward the shores of the unknown. November passed; December came—and Christmas was drawing near. And still the hosts of death laid siege to the citadel of his life. In the meantime, disaffection again arose in the ranks of the Prophet’s followers. The winter was severe; and food was scarce. Many of the Indians drifted away from the Mississinewa, in search of game, or returned to their old homes. Tecumseh sat in his cabin, moodily pondering over the condition of affairs. Yet had it not been for his presence, his and his brother’s followers would have deserted, to a man. As it was, only the Miamis and a faithful few of the various tribes remained. In the latter part of November, Tenskwatawa sent messengers to Fort Harrison, to ask for a share of the annuities that were being distributed to the peaceable savages. These messengers succeeded in deceiving the agent at the post, and returned to Mississinewa with a large amount of provisions and other stores. About this time, also, the English—learning of the Prophet’s defeat and misfortunes—sent him a supply of arms, ammunition, blankets, and cooking utensils. Bradford distributed these goods impartially. Toward the last of December, the weather suddenly grew warmer and game again appeared in the vicinity of the village. Despondency and gloom gave way to feasting and rejoicing.