ROBERT AND ORIANNA.
There was much talk and excitement in Deacon Wilder’s family when it was
known that in a little more than three months’ time a young maiden would
come among them, who would be at once daughter, sister and mistress.
From Jake, the negroes had received most of their information, and
verily George himself would scarcely have recognized Marian in the
description given of her by his servant. So many beauties and
excellences were attributed to her, that the negroes were all on the
_qui vive_ to see this paragon.
Charlie, too, was delighted, and when the next day he as usual met
Orianna in the woods, he led her to a mossy bank, and then communicated
to her the glad tidings. When he repeated to her the name of his future
sister-in-law, he was greatly surprised at seeing Orianna start quickly
to her feet, while a wild light flashed from her large black eyes. Soon
reseating herself, she said, calmly, “What is it, Charlie? What is the
name of the white lady?”
“Marian—Marian Gorton,” repeated Charlie. “Do you not think it a pretty
name?”
Orianna did not answer, but sat with her small, delicate hands pressed
tightly over her forehead. For a moment Charlie looked at her in wonder;
then taking both her hands in his, he said, gently, “Don’t feel so,
Orianna. I shall love you just as well, even if I do have a sister
Marian.”
Orianna’s only answer was, “Say her name again, Charlie.”
He did so, and then Orianna repeated, “Marian—Marian—what is it? Oh,
what is it? Marian;—it sounds to Orianna like music heard years and
years ago.”
“Perhaps it was a dream,” suggested Charlie.
“It must have been,” answered Orianna, “but a pleasant dream, fair as
the young moon or the summer flowers. But tell me more, Charlie.”
“I will do so,” said he, “but I am afraid you will forget your lesson.”
He had been in the habit of taking to the woods some one of his reading
books, and in this way he had unconsciously awakened in Orianna a desire
for learning. For some time past a part of each day had been spent in
teaching her the alphabet. It was an interesting sight, that dark,
handsome girl, and the fair, pale boy—he in the capacity of a patient
teacher, and she the ambitious scholar.
On the afternoon of the day of which we are speaking, they were, as
usual, employed in their daily occupation. The excitement of the
occasion heightened the rich glow on Orianna’s cheek, while the wreath
of white wild flowers, which Charlie had woven and placed among her
shining black hair, gave her the appearance of some dark queen of the
forest. The lesson was nearly completed, and Charlie was overjoyed to
find that his pupil knew every letter, both great and small, when they
were startled by the sound of a footstep, and in a moment Robert
Hunting, who had accompanied George Wilder home from Lexington, stood
before them.
Swiftly as a deer Orianna bounded away, while Charlie, in evident
confusion, attempted to secrete his book, and Robert burst into a loud
laugh, saying, “Well done, Charlie! So you’ve turned schoolmaster, and
chosen a novel pupil, upon my word. But who is she? If she be a native,
she is handsomer far than half the white girls!”
“She is Orianna,” said Charlie, “the daughter of a chieftain, and I love
her too.”
“Nobility, hey?” said Robert laughing. “Better yet. But what made her
run so? Did she think I was the Evil One? Can’t you call her back?”
“She won’t come,” answered Charlie; “she don’t like you, and I can’t
make her.”
“So you have been saying a word in my favour, have you?” said Robert, a
little sarcastically. “Greatly obliged to you, Master Charlie, but I
prefer doing my own pleading.”
“I didn’t mean _you_,” said Charlie, a little indignantly. “She don’t
know that there is such a thing as you. I meant all the white folks.”
“Oh, you did,” answered Robert, looking wistfully in the direction where
Orianna had disappeared.
At that moment there was the report of a rifle, and a ball passed
between him and Charlie and lodged in a tree a few feet distant.
“So he,” exclaimed Robert, “wasn’t content with sending an arrow at my
heart, but must hurl a bullet at my head.”
Charlie was confounded. He never for a moment doubted that Orianna had
sent the ball, and a fearful distrust of her filled his heart. A week
went by, and still he neglected to take his accustomed walk, although he
noticed that Robert went daily in his stead.
At length one morning Robert came to him and said, “Orianna bade me tell
you that each day, ’neath the buckeye tree, she’s watched for you in
vain.”
Charlie’s eyes opened wide with astonishment, as he exclaimed, “Orianna?
Where have you seen Orianna?”
“Where should I see her, pray, but in the woods?” answered Robert. “We
have spent the last five days together there, and I have taken your
place as teacher.”
Here we may as well explain what the reader is doubtless anxious to
know. The bullet which passed between Robert and Charlie was not sent by
the hand of Orianna, but by the vicious Wahlaga, whose curiosity had
been roused as to what led Orianna so frequently to the woods. On that
day he had followed and discovered her, just at the moment when Robert
appeared before her. The jealous savage, thinking that he looked upon
his rival, made ready his gun, when Orianna, suddenly coming upon him,
threw aside his arm, thus changing the course of the ball, while at the
same time she led the excited Indian away, and at length succeeded in
convincing him that never before had she seen Robert, nor did she even
know who he was.
The next morning Orianna was overjoyed to learn that Wahlaga was about
leaving home, to be absent an indefinite length of time. Her happiness,
however was soon clouded by some expressions which he let fall, and from
which she gathered that her father had promised to give her in marriage
as soon as he should return. “It shall never be; no, never,” said the
determined girl, as, immediately after his departure, she took the
narrow footpath to the woods of Glen’s Creek.
Throughout all the morning she waited in vain for Charlie, although she
several times saw Robert at a distance, and felt sure that he was
looking for her. She knew that she had saved his life, and this created
in her a desire to see him again. Accordingly, when that afternoon they
once more came face to face, she did not run, but eagerly asked after
her young companion. Robert knew well how to play his part and in a few
moments Orianna’s shyness had vanished, and she was answering, with
ready obedience, all the questions asked her by the handsome stranger.
Ere they parted, Robert had learned that to her he owed his life, and as
a token of his gratitude he placed upon her slender finger a plain gold
ring. He did not ask her to meet him again next day, but he well knew
she would, for she, who knew no evil, thought no evil.
As Robert had said, he took Charlie’s place as teacher; but, ah me! the
lessons thus taught and received were of a far different nature from the
alphabet in Charlie’s picture-book. Many a time, ere that week went by,
the simple Indian girl, in the solitude of night, knelt by the streamlet
which ran by her father’s door, and prayed the Great Spirit to forgive
her for the love which she bore the white man, the enemy of her
people;—and he?—why he scarce knew himself what his thoughts and
intentions were. He looked upon Orianna as a simple-minded, innocent
child; and while he took peculiar delight in studying her character, he
resolved that neither in word nor deed would he harm the gentle girl who
each day came so timidly to his side.
Day after day was his stay at Glen’s Creek protracted, and yet he would
not acknowledge that even he was interested in her within whose heart a
passion had been awakened, never more to slumber. The day on which he
spoke to Charlie of Orianna, was the last which he would spend at Glen’s
Creek, and as he did not wish to be alone when he bade her adieu, he
asked Charlie to accompany him. Oh, how bright was the smile with which
the maiden greeted them at first, and how full of despair was the
expression of her face when told by Robert that he must leave her! Not a
word did she speak, but closely to her heart she pressed the little
Charlie, as if fearful lest he, too, should go.
“Farewell, Orianna,” said Robert. “When the nuts are brown upon the
trees, look for me, for I shall come again.”
A moment more, and he was gone,—gone with poor Orianna’s heart, and left
her nothing in return. Covering her face with her hands, she wept so
long and bitterly, that Charlie at last wound his arms around her neck,
and wept too, although he knew not for what. This token of sympathy
aroused her, and after a moment she said, “Leave me now, Charlie;
Orianna would be alone.” He arose to obey, when she added, “Don’t tell
them,—don’t tell him what you have seen.”
He promised secrecy, and Orianna was left alone. The forest was dark
with the shadows of coming night ere she arose, and then the heart which
she bore back to the wigwam by Grassy Spring was sadder than any she had
ever before carried across the threshold of her home. The next day
Charlie noticed a certain listlessness about his pupil, which he had
never observed before; and though her eye wandered over the printed
page, her thoughts were evidently away. At last a happy thought struck
him, and drawing close to her, he whispered, “I think _Robert_ will be
pleased if you learn to read.”
He had touched the right chord—no other incentive was needed—and from
that day her improvement was as rapid as the most ambitious teacher
could wish. Frequently she would ask Charlie concerning Marian,
requesting him to repeat her name; then she would fall into a fit of
musing, “When heard I that name? and where was it?—oh, where?”
Yes, Orianna, _Where was it?_