The White Squaw

“Have you anything against him?”

“Oh, no. I am only afraid he’ll be the loser by the intimacy.”

“Am I so dangerous?” asked her brother.

“Yes, Warren, you are dangerous, for, with all your pretended goodness, you lack principle. You cannot conceal your real character from me. Remember, I am your sister.”

“I am glad you remind me. I should forget it.”

“That’s because you avoid me so much. If you believed in my wishes for your welfare, you would not do that.”

Her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Indeed, then I beg you won’t waste your sympathy on me. I’m perfectly able to take care of myself.”

“You think you are.”

“Well, have it that way if it pleases you better. But what has this to do with my friendship for the Indian?”

“A great deal. I don’t like your intimacy with him. Not because he’s an Indian – although that is one reason – but because you have some purpose to serve by it that’ll do him no good.”

“Why, one would think you were in love with the young copper-skin!”

“No, but they might think he’s in love with me.”

“What! has he dared – ”

“No, he has dared nothing; only a woman’s eye can see more than a man’s. Nelatu has never spoken a familiar word to me, but, for all that, I can see that he admires me.”

“And you – do you admire him?”

The young girl stopped in her walk.

Her eyes sparkled strangely as she answered —

“Shame, brother, to put such a question! I am a white woman – he is an Indian. How dare you speak of such a thing?”

Warren laughed lightly at his sister, as he answered.

“Why, you don’t think that I care for the fellow, do you?”

The young girl saw her opportunity, and seized it.

“And yet you pretend to be his friend. Ah! have I caught you by your own confession?”

“Again, what do you mean?”

“That my doubts are now certainties – that some wicked scheme is concealed under this false friendship for Nelatu.”

“You are mad, Alice.”

“No, perfectly sane. You have some design, and I advise you, whatever it be, to abandon it. You don’t like my tears, so I’ll try to suppress them if I can; but I implore you, Warren, brother, to give it up now and for ever.”

She dashed a few bitter drops from her eyes ere she spoke again.

“I have only you and my father to look to for support and comfort; my heart has yearned towards you both, but has met with nothing but coldness. Oh, Warren, be a brave man – brave enough to despise wickedness, and you will not only make me happy, but, perhaps, avert that terrible retribution which overtakes transgression. There is time yet; hear my prayer before it is too late.”

Her pleading voice fell upon an ear that heard not.

The appeal did not reach her brother’s stony heart.

With a few commonplaces he endeavoured to exculpate himself from any evil intentions towards the young Indian.

All in vain.

Her woman’s instinct saw through his hypocrisy, and showed him to her as he was – wicked!

That night Alice Rody prayed long and earnestly for support in an affliction which she felt was but too surely coming; and she wept till her pillow was bedewed with tears!

Chapter Sixteen.

A Changed Character

A wonderful change had taken place in the conduct of Elias Rody.

He was most gracious – most condescending.

He kissed all the children, chatted with the mothers, and listened to their narratives of infant ailments, husbands’ delinquencies, or household troubles.

To the surprise of many of the poorer settlers the hitherto aristocratic governor took, or appeared to take, great interest in their affairs, and, more wonderful still, in some instances, put his hand into his pocket to relieve their pressing necessities.

Petty matters seemed to become deeply interesting to him, and he devoted time and attention to their adjustment.

Through all this his temper was conciliating and amiable.

Many personal quarrels, amongst settlers, were forgotten and forgiven through his means, whilst coolness were warmed into new friendships by his mediation.

This was the work of some time, and the astonishment of his amiability gave way to self censure on the part of the observers, who charged themselves with having done him great injustice.

No churlish man would have sent down provisions for the poor, have rebuilt Widow Jones’s barn, or bought Seth Cheshire a new horse; and what mean man would have lent money to that drunken but popular Jake Stebbins, whose fiery nose, should Jake be abroad, was as a lighthouse on a dark night to any belated traveller?

This was the impression that gradually got abroad about Elias Rody.

He only smiled, rubbed his hands softly together, and muttered, “Humph!”

The monosyllable was full of meaning.

It meant that he thought his labour well bestowed, and that the design he had in view prospered even beyond his expectations.