George, too, was evidently piqued at having his bride likened to an Indian, but Robert came to Charlie’s relief, saying that “he had often noticed how wholly unlike an Indian were the features of Orianna, and that were her skin a few shades lighter, she would be far more beautiful than many pale-cheeked belles, with their golden curls and snowy brows.”
The conversation now turned upon Orianna, and the strong affection which existed between her and Charlie, whom Robert teased unmercifully about his “dark-eyed ladye love.”
Charlie bore it manfully, and ere the evening was spent, he had promised to take Marian with him next time he visited his Indian friend. This promise he fulfilled, and the meeting between the two girls was perfectly simple and natural. Both were prepared to like each other, and both looked curiously, one at the other, although Marian at last became uneasy at the deep, earnest gaze which those full, black eyes bent upon her, while their owner occasionally whispered, “Marian, Marian.”
Visions of sorcery and witchcraft passed before her mind, and still, turn which way she would, she felt that the dark girl’s eyes were fixed upon her with a strangely fascinating look. But fear not, young Marian, for though she strokes your silken curls, and caressingly touches your soft cheek, the forest maiden will do you no harm. At length Marian’s timidity gave way, and when she arose to go, she did not refuse her hand to Orianna, who for a time kept it between her own, as if admiring its whiteness; then suddenly throwing it from her, she said, “Oh, why can’t Orianna be white and handsome, too?”
“You are handsome,” answered Marian. “Only two evenings since I heard Robert Hunting say that you were far more beautiful than half the white girls.”
“Who takes my name in vain?” said a musical voice, as Robert himself appeared before them, and laid his hand gently upon Orianna’s glossy hair.
If Marian had any doubts of her beauty before, they were now dispelled by the rich colour which mounted to her olive cheek, and the joy which danced in her large eye. Yet ’twas not Robert’s presence alone which so delighted Orianna. A ray of hope had entered her heart. “He thought her beautiful, and perhaps—perhaps—”
Ah, Orianna, think not that Robert Hunting will ever wed an Indian, for Robert is no Rolfe, and you no Pocahontas!
As if divining and giving words to her thoughts, Robert, while seating himself between the two girls, and placing an arm around each, said, playfully, “Hang it all, Orianna, why were you not white!”
“Don’t, Bob,” whispered Marian, who with woman’s quick perception half suspected the nature of Orianna’s feelings for one whose life she twice had saved.