She could not flee to another camp, there was no place for her among the white people, divorce there was none, and she hoped that some day her Indian husband might sell her to another Indian who might treat her more humanely. But the seeds of disease were sown in her system, and she was already doomed to fall a victim to the curse of the Indians, that fell destroyer, consumption.
The medicine drum was beaten night after night, and the song and prayers of the medicine-man sounded through the camp. But all was of no avail; Napiake's life was slowly ebbing away.
Late one night there entered the lodge a white man, dignified and grave. The Indians gave him the seat of honor in the lodge. He knelt beside the sick woman, beautiful now as ever in the days of health. The haggard looks had disappeared, and a peaceful contentment rested upon her face. The visitor spoke in a low tone, and Napiake listened, attentively answering his questions. Her father and friends leaned forward to catch her faintly expressed words. After some quiet conversation, raising herself in a state of excitement and looking the missionary in the face, Napiake inquired:
"Shall we see each other there?"
"Yes, in the land of God, we shall see each other."
"Shall we know each other?" eagerly asked the woman upon whose countenance the shadow of the death-angel had fallen.
"Yes," was the simple answer of the man.
"I shall see him! I shall see him! Shall we live there always?"
"Yes, we shall, never to be parted again!"
Napiake fell back upon her couch, saying, "I'm satisfied, I'm satisfied! God is just."