Chapter Thirty Five.
A Peaceful Warning.
The summer had waned into autumn.
With the changing season came also a change over the hapless Indian maiden, Sansuta.
Her weakness, which had been continually increasing, was now so great that she could no longer stray with Alice to their favourite haunts.
The poor girl’s form had wasted away, and her features become shrunken. Her dark, lustrous eyes alone seemed to retain their vitality.
All her former violence had disappeared, and a change had also made itself manifest in her mental condition.
Now and then she had lucid moments of thought, during which she would shed torrents of tears on Alice’s shoulder, only with the return of her malady would she appear happy and at peace.
Towards sunset of a lovely day the two girls sat together at the door of Sansuta’s dwelling.
“See!” said the Indian girl, “the flowers are closing, the birds have gone into the deep forest. I have been expecting some one, but he has not come yet. Do you know who it is?”
“No, I do not.”
“’Tis Warren. Why do you start and tremble? He will not hurt you. Who was it you thought I meant?”
“I cannot tell, dear Sansuta.”
“No one but him—I think of him always, although,” she added lowering her voice to a whisper, “I dare not call his name. I’m afraid to do that. I’m afraid of my brother Nelatu and my cousin Wacora. Why does the sun look so fiery? It is the colour of blood—blood—blood! That red colour, is it on your hands, too? Ah, no! You are no murderer!”
“Hush, Sansuta! you are excited.”
“Ah, yonder sun! Do you know that I feel as if it were the last time I should ever see it set. See, there are dark lines across the sky—ribbed with bands of black clouds. It is the last day—the last day—”
“I see nothing, only the approach of night.”
“But you hear something. Don’t you hear the spirits singing their death march over Oluski’s grave? He was my father—I hear it. It is a summons. It is for me. I must go.”
“Go? Where?”
“Far away. No; it is of no use clasping me to your heart. It is not Sansuta’s body that will leave you—it is her spirit. In the happy hunting grounds I shall meet with him—”
A few moments after she became tranquil; but the lucid interval succeeded, and hot tears coursed down her hollow cheeks.
Again her mind wandered, and for two or three hours, refusing to enter the house, she sate muttering to herself the same fancies.
Alice could but sit beside her and listen. Now and then she sought to soothe her, but in vain.
By and bye Sansuta’s voice grew faint. She seemed to lean heavier on the arm of her pale-faced friend, and the lustre of her eye gradually became dimmer.
The change was alarming, and Alice would have risen and called for help, but an imploring glance from Sansuta prevented her.
“Don’t leave me,” she murmured gently.
Her voice was changed; she had recovered reason, and her companion perceived it.
“Do not leave me. I shall not detain you long. I know you now—have known you it seems for years. I know all, for there is peace in my heart towards all, even to those who took his life. Forgiveness has come back with reason, and my last prayers shall be that they who made Sansuta unhappy may be forgiven!”
She spoke in so low a voice that it was with difficulty her companion could hear what she said.
“Kiss me, Alice Rody! Speak to me! Let me hear you say that Sansuta was your friend!”
“Was—is my friend!”
“No—let me say was, for I am about to leave you. The time is come; I am ready! My last prayer is ‘Pity and forgiveness! Pity and—’”
By the gentle motion of her lips she appeared to be praying.
That motion ceased, and with it her unhappy life!
Alice still continued to hold her in her arms long after her soul had passed into Eternity!