Prairie–bird bowed her head meekly while breathing a silent amen to the holy man’s benediction, and then turned to inquire of her young brother how he now felt, and of Paul Müller into the cause of his sudden illness.
Wingenund was sufficiently recovered to speak to her gratefully in reply, and to press the hand which she held out to him; but he was much reduced by loss of blood, and the missionary, putting his finger to his lips, enjoined him quiet and silence for the present. He continued, however, in a low voice to explain to her the strange events that had lately occurred, and how he and the friend of her betrothed owed to the heroism of Wingenund their life and liberty.
While the maiden listened with absorbed attention, every passage in the brief but eventful tale was legible on her eloquent countenance. As Reginald stood at a little distance gazing earnestly upon its changeful loveliness, he was startled by a suppressed ejaculation from some one at his side, at the same time that his arm was seized and pressed with almost convulsive force. He turned, and saw his friend Ethelston, who, finding that War–Eagle had fallen into a tranquil sleep had stolen out of the tent to the side of Reginald, where he first caught a sight of the maiden as she listened to the missionary’s narrative. Reginald again observed with astonishment that his friend, usually so calm, trembled from head to foot: his eye rested upon the group with a preternatural fixedness, and his lips moved inaudibly, like those of a man scarcely recovered from a trance. “Gracious Heaven! what can have happened? Edward, you are not surely ill! that would indeed fill the cup of our trials to the brim. Speak to me! let me hear your voice, for your looks alarm me!”
Ethelston made no reply, but he pointed with his finger towards Prairie–bird, and two or three large tear–drops rolled down his cheeks.
While this was passing, Paul Müller had brought his tale to a conclusion, and his eye happening to light upon Ethelston, he continued (still addressing Prairie–bird), “And now, my dear child, it only remains for me to tell you the cause of our beloved young brother’s weakened condition. The extremes of joy and of anguish will sometimes sweep before them the mightiest bulwarks that can be raised in the heart of man by his own unaided strength. Wingenund opposed to the stroke of affliction sent from on high not the meek, trusting endurance of Christian resignation, but the haughty resistance of human pride. Already he sees and repents his error, and the mist is clearing away from his eyes; but you, my dear child, have been better taught; you have learnt, in all trials and in all emergencies, to throw yourself upon the mercy of your heavenly Father, and to place your whole trust in his gracious promises of protection. We are more apt to forget this duty when our cup overflows with joy than when his chastening hand is upon us; but it should not be so. Promise me, then, promise me, my beloved child, that in weal or in woe, in the rapture of joy as in the extremity of sorrow, you will strive to remember and practise it.”
Awed by the unusual solemnity of his manner, the maiden bowed her head, and said, “I promise.”
Scarcely had she said these words, when Reginald came forward, leading his friend Ethelston, who had by a strong effort recovered from his extreme agitation, and regained something of his usual composure. “Prairie–bird,” said Reginald, “I wish to make known to you, my most faithful companion, my tried and attached friend Ethelston. You must love him now for my sake; when you know him, you will do so for his own.”
Leaning on the missionary’s arm, the maiden raised herself from her stooping posture to greet the friend of her betrothed. “I have heard much——,” she said, with her sweet natural dignity of manner; but she suddenly stopped, starting as if she had seen a ghost, and clinging closer to Paul Müller’s arm, while her earnest gaze encountered the eyes of Ethelston fixed upon her with an expression that seemed to shake the nerves and fibres of her heart. To Reginald their silence and agitation was an incomprehensible mystery: not so to the missionary, who still supported Prairie–bird, and whispered to her as she advanced a step nearer to the stranger, “Your promise.” She understood him, for he heard her breathe the Almighty’s name, as Ethelston also advanced a step towards her; and again their looks dwelt upon each other with a fixed intensity that spoke of thoughts too crowded, and confused, and mysterious, for expression. At length Ethelston, whose strong and wellbalanced mind had triumphed over the first shock of emotion, addressed the maiden, saying, “Have the latter years been so happily spent that they have quite banished from the mind of Prairie–bird the memory of early days?”
At the sound of his voice the maiden started, as if she had received an electric shock; her bosom heaved with agitation, and her eyes filled with tears.
Again the missionary whispered, “Your promise!” while Ethelston continued, “Has she forgotten her own little garden with the sun–dial? and poor Mary, who nursed, and dressed, and taught her to read? Has she forgotten the great Bible full of prints, of which she was so fond; and the green lane that led to Mooshanne? Has Evy forgotten her Edward?”