out in a boat by himself was not with us. A
storm was approaching, and we all knew that his safety lay in getting
ashore before it broke. We lighted a fire, but the blaze could not be
seen far in such inky darkness. We hallooed, but received no answer, and
finally ceased our efforts. Then one of the young ladies who possessed a
very high and clear soprano voice, began singing at the very top of her
power. It reached the wanderer in the darkness, and he rowed straight
toward it. From that time on he became infatuated with the singer,
declaring that her voice had come to him in his despair like an angel's
straight from heaven.

"She died in less than a year, and her last words to him were: 'Meet me
in heaven.' He had always been recklessly inclined, but after that he
became a model of rectitude and goodness. He wrote a poem that was
dedicated to her memory. In it he described himself as a lone wanderer
on a strange sea in the darkness of a gathering storm and no beacon to
guide him, when suddenly he hears a voice singing which guides him safe
to shore. He speaks of the beauty of the singer and how dear she became
to him, but he still hears the song calling him across the ocean of
death."

"Repeat what you remember of it," urged Wauna.

"That face and form, have long since gone
Beyond where the day was lifted:
But the beckoning song still lingers on,
An angels earthward drifted.

And when death's waters, around me roar
And cares, like the birds, are winging:
If I steer my bark to Heaven's shore
'Twill be by an angel's singing."

"Poor child of superstition," said Wauna, sadly. "Your belief has
something pretty in it, but for your own welfare, and that of your
people, you must get rid of it as we have got rid of the offspring of
Lust. Our children come to us as welcome guests through portals of the
holiest and purest affection. That love which you speak of, I know
nothing about. I would not know. It is a degradation which mars your
young life and embitters the memories of age. We have advanced beyond
it. There is a cruelty in life," she added, compassionately, "which we
must accept with stoicism as the inevitable. Justice to your posterity
demands of you the highest and noblest effort of which your intellect is
capable."

CHAPTER VIII.

The conversation that I had with Wauna gave me so much uneasiness that I
sought her mother. I cannot express the shock