The conscious girl blushed at the impassioned eagerness into which her feelings had betrayed her, but she did not attempt to deny her brother’s conclusion, and he continued more gravely: “Then my sister could not be the wife of the Osage, without leading a life of misery and falsehood. No, no,” he added, his bright eye kindled as he spoke; “let to–morrow come; Wingenund is ready; he will show that wolf how the Lenapé die. Let to–morrow come, and Mahéga shall learn that Wingenund despises his hate as much as Prairie–bird scorns his love. My sister, I have spoken it. The deeds of my fathers are before my eyes; the blood of the ancient people is in my veins; words cannot change my mind. Farewell! and when you see War–Eagle and Netis, tell them that the Washashe fire drew neither complaint nor cry from the lips of Wingenund.”
As he spoke, his agonised sister looked up in his face, and read but too plainly the high, unconquerable determination legibly stamped upon its proud expressive features. She saw that the instinctive feelings of his race had triumphed over all the gentler impressions which she and the missionary had endeavoured to implant, and, knowing that now she might as well attempt to bend a stubborn oak as to effect any change in his resolution, she embraced him in silence, and suffered the Osage guards to lead him from the tent.
Composing herself by a strong effort of self–command, Prairie–bird revolved in her mind various schemes for saving the life of her devoted brother; one after another she considered and rejected, until at length the idea occurred to her that perhaps she might contrive to work upon the superstitious fears of Mahéga. With this view she examined carefully all her slender stock of instruments and curiosities,—the novelty of the burning–glass was past, the ticking of the watch given to her by Paul Müller, though it might surprise the Osage, could not be expected to alarm, or induce him to abandon his determination. Then she cast her despairing eyes upon the few volumes which formed her travelling library; among these her attention was accidentally directed to the almanack which the good Father had brought to her, from the settlements, when he gave her the watch, and she sighed when she thought how often she had amused herself in the spring comparing them together, calculating the lapse of time, and the changes of season which they severally announced. Her observation of the sabbaths had been most punctual, nor had it been interrupted by the toils and privations of the journey, so she had no difficulty in finding the week or the day then passing. “July,” she exclaimed, reading to herself half aloud, “only two weeks of this sad month are yet past, methinks they seem more like fourteen months than fourteen days! See here, too, on the opposite leaf prophecies regarding wind and weather. How often would the dear Father point these out to me, and strive to explain the wonderful terms in which they describe the movements of the stars; he was very patient, but they were too hard for me; I am sure he tried to make me understand these strange words, ‘Aphelion,’ ‘Apogee,’ ‘Perigee,’ but if he ever succeeded, I have forgotten it all. What is this notice in larger letters? to–morrow, to–morrow it stands written, ‘Total eclipse of the sun, visible at Philadelphia, 9h. 42m.’—surely surely it will be visible here too. I will trust to it, I will build my faith upon it, and Wingenund’s life shall yet be saved.” So saying, she clasped her hands together, and her lovely countenance beamed with re–awakened hope.
Lita, who had been watching her mistress with affectionate solicitude, and listening with childish wonder to her half–uttered soliloquy, was overcome with surprise at this sudden change in her demeanour; she thought that Prairie–bird had been conversing with some unseen being; under which impression she approached, and asked, timidly,
“Has Olitipa seen a Good Spirit, and have her ears drunk words of comfort?”
“Olitipa has received words of comfort,” replied her mistress, kindly; “they seem to her words from Heaven; she trusts that she may not be deceived; she will address her evening prayer to the Great Merciful Spirit above, and retire to rest, at least to such rest as it may be His will to give her.”
For many hours after Prairie–bird had been stretched upon her furry couch did her thoughts dwell upon the solar eclipse now the foundation of her hopes; she remembered how the missionary had explained to her that it was visible at one hour in one part of the earth, at a different hour in another part; then she wondered whether at the spot where she now was it would be seen sooner or later than at Philadelphia,—this doubt her science could not resolve, and it held her long in anxious suspense; but overwearied nature at length claimed her rights, and she sank into an unrefreshing dreamy slumber, in which the images of Wingenund, Mahéga, and Reginald Brandon were stalking confusedly over an eclipsed and darkened region of earth.
Early on the following morning Mahéga, who had resolved not to lose this favourable opportunity for working upon the fears of Prairie–bird, caused a pile of dry branches of wood to be placed round a tree, which stood nearly opposite to her tent, to which he ordered Wingenund to be secured with thongs of bison–hide; after which he and his warriors seated themselves in a semicircle before their victim, passing the pipe deliberately from mouth to mouth, as if to enjoy his suspense and terror.
If such was their object, it met with little success, for the young Delaware, in the brightest day of his youth and freedom, had never worn so proud and lofty an air as that which now sat enthroned upon his brow.