"I think I have heard her say," remarked Edith, "that you educated her from her childhood."
"When first I joined the People of the Stone," replied the missionary, "I found her there, a young child of three years old. Her mother was just dead; and, although her father bore his grief with the stern, gloomy stoicism of his nation, and neither suffered tear to fall nor sigh to escape his lips, I could see plainly enough that he was struck with grief such as the Indian seldom feels, and never shows. He received me most kindly; made my efforts with his people easy; and though I know not to this hour whether with himself I have been successful in communicating blessed light, he gave his daughter altogether up to my charge, and with her I have not failed. I fear in him the savage is too deeply rooted ever to be wrung forth, but I have made her one of Christ's flock, indeed."
It seemed, as if by a sort of instinct, that Otaitsa discovered she was the subject of conversation between her two friends. Twice she looked round at them from the other side of the room, and at length glided across, and seated herself beside Edith. For a moment she sat in silence there; and then, leaning her head gracefully on her beautiful companion's shoulder, she said, in a low whisper--
"Do not close thine eyes this night, my sister, till thou seest me."
Having thus spoken, she started up, and mingled with the little crowd again.
It was still early in the night when Edith retired to the chamber assigned for her; for, even in the most fashionable society of those times, people had not learned to drive the day into the night, and make morning and evening meet. Her room was a large and handsome one; and though plainly, it was sufficiently furnished. No forest, as at her own dwelling, intercepted the beams of the rising moon; so she sat and contemplated the ascent of the queen of night, as she soared grandly over the distant trees.
The conduct of Otaitsa during that evening had puzzled Edith, and the few whispered words had excited her curiosity; for it must not be forgotten that Edith was altogether unacquainted with the fact of one of the Oneidas having been slain by the hands of Captain Brooks, within little more than two miles of her own abode. She proceeded to make her toilet for the night, however, and was almost undressed when she heard the door of her room open quietly, and Otaitsa stole in, and cast her arms around her.
"Ah, my sister," she exclaimed, "I have longed to talk with you." Seating herself by her side, she leaned her head again upon Edith's shoulder, but remained silent for several minutes.
The fair English girl knew that it was better to let her take her own time, and her own manner, to speak whatever she had to say; but Otaitsa remained so long without uttering a word, that an indefinable feeling of alarm spread over her young companion. She felt her bosom heave, as if with struggling sighs; she even felt some warm drops, like tears, fall upon her shoulder; and yet Otaitsa remained without speaking; till at length Edith said, in a gentle and encouraging tone,--
"What is it, my sister? There can surely be nothing you should be afraid to utter to my ear."