The next morning Anna awoke early, and refreshed, although her slumber had not been unbroken; for whenever she stirred the dark eyes of Weetano were fixed upon her with the same placid smile that had greeted her coming, and sorely, bitterly did her heart ache for the poor creature who regarded her with an affection so earnest and grateful. She feigned sleep at length, fearing her friend would become exhausted with care for her, but when the low, soft breathing of Weetano assured her she had relapsed from her watching, she turned away from her and wet her couch with tears. When she awoke in the morning, Weetano still slept, and she arose noiselessly, lest she might disturb her; but when some time passed and she still betrayed no signs of waking, Anna seated herself beside her couch, murmuring softly, “This sleep will do her good—she looks so happy now.” Her dark, glossy locks had fallen over her forehead, and she stroked them gently back, smiling on the beautiful picture before her, for though the cheek of Weetano had lost its roundness, the outline was still perfect, and still she was marvelously beautiful.
An hour or more passed on, and Anna had not left the side of the sleeping maiden. Over her features brooded the same tranquil repose, so hushed indeed, that she would often bend down her ear to catch the low breathing, and satisfy her mind that there was nothing unnatural in a repose so profound. Without she heard the murmur of voices, and cautious footsteps, for only a hanging of skins separated them from the large, open space where the feast had been spread the evening previous, and where breakfast was now preparing. At length an old Indian woman peeped cautiously from behind the curtain, and seeing Anna already dressed, she came forward with a look of surprise that her companion was yet sleeping.
“What!” said she, “is not the daughter of the chief risen? ’Tis her custom to rise with the dawn; she must be weary with the labor of yesterday. Oliwibatuc gave orders not to disturb you, thinking the white maiden would need rest; but Red-Bird has slept long now, we will break her slumber. Weetano, Weetano!” said the Indian woman, “the sun is high in the east, ’tis time the Lily should eat something, Oliwibatuc has called for his daughter.”
A smothered murmur escaped from her lips, like one half aroused to consciousness, and the eyelids unclosed for a moment, but were soon heavy with sleep again.
“Wake up, wake up, Weetano,” continued she, “the morning is fair, and the air as fragrant as the month of flowers. The chief will take you forth to sail on the river—wake up maiden.”
Weetano breathed a low sigh, and there was a struggle, like one who strives to burst a charm. The effort seemed ineffectual, but she spoke faintly, “Weetano is weary, Zohah—leave her to rest a little.”
“Yes, let her rest,” whispered Anna, “she will gain strength, and I will watch beside her until she awakens.”
“The maiden sleeps strangely,” muttered the old woman, as she retreated behind the curtain, leaving Anna to resume her watch.
Another hour passed by, and she ventured to lift the hand that had fallen over the blankets of her couch—it was soft and warm as a slumbering infant’s. She pressed it in her own, whispering, “Weetano, Weetano!” and a happy smile passed over the features of her companion, and the pressure of her hand was gently returned. “She must have watched longer than I supposed,” thought Anna, “and is exhausted with the effort; it would be wrong to disturb her.”
She arose and lifted the curtain, for it was growing late, and she began to feel faint and weary herself; no one was to be seen, and she went forward to the open air. Oliwibatuc was sitting on the ground, at a little distance from the lodge, with a number of his warriors in an idle manner, but when he saw Anna standing in the door of the wigwam, he came forward with a smile on his dark, grim features, and said—“The Lily has slumbered long; was she wearied with her journey through the woods?”