It was late when she
awoke. She was alone: the lodge was empty. A vague fear seized her: she
hastily arose to seek her friend. It was evident that some great event was
in preparation. The Indian men had put on the war-paint, and strange and
ferocious eyes were glancing from beneath their shaggy locks. A stake was
driven in the centre of the cleared space in front of the chief's lodge:
there, bound, she beheld her devoted friend; pale as ashes, but with a calm
unshaken countenance, she stood. There was no sign of woman's fear in her
fixed dark eye, which quailed not before the sight of the death-dooming men
who stood round her, armed with their terrible weapons of destruction.
Her thoughts seemed far away: perhaps they were with her dead kindred,
wandering in that happy land to which the Indian hopes to go after life;
or, inspired with the new hope which had been opened to her, she was
looking to Him who has promised a crown of life to such as believe in His
name. She saw not the look of agony with which Catharine regarded her; and
the poor girl, full of grief, sunk down at the foot of a neighbouring tree,
and burying her face between her knees, wept and prayed--oh! how fervently!
A hope crept to her heart--even while the doom of Indiana seemed
darkest--that some good might yet accrue from her visit to the wigwam of
the Great Medicine squaw.
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