The White Squaw

Pity and love had exchanged places within his bosom.

He and his captive had done the same.

The girl was free; her gaoler had become her prisoner.

This new phase of feeling was not accomplished suddenly.

It grew silently and slowly but surely.

One thought troubled Wacora.

It was Nelatu’s admiration for Alice Rody.

He saw that she cared not for his cousin, but he forebore to urge his suit, out of compassion for Sansuta’s brother.

His love, therefore, was speechless, and his captive was unconscious of it.

But what of her? She, too, had changed.

By one of those marvellous transformations of which the human heart is capable, Alice Rody not only became reconciled to her residence among the Indians, but even found much that interested her, even to the awakening of pleasant thoughts.

Many of the Seminoles were, as has been stated, well educated, and with education had come the usual chastening influence.

This was especially true of the young chief Wacora, and she had not failed to observe it.

Her first reflection was what he might have been had he been brought up amongst her own race, for, although she had not been told of his mother being a white woman, she did not doubt that he had white blood in his veins.

What might not a man of his intelligence, chivalric courage, and purity of thought have become in a society where civilisation would have developed all these mental qualities?

The question was a natural one when viewing only the advantages which high culture presented; but its obverse was unfavourable, when considering that civilisation is often an approach to barbarism through selfishness and rapacity.

She answered the query herself, and favourably for him. This mental questioning once commenced, did not pause, but went on to farther consideration of the character of the young chief.

His thoughtfulness seemed as much sprung from regret at the compulsory warfare he was waging against her race, as the noble enthusiasm with which his soul was filled.

The heart of a woman easily yielded its admiration to an enthusiast!

The motive may be condemned, but the spiritual essence of thought that prompts to action still remains to be admired.

It will then be seen that the first abhorrence had given place to interest; and interest had ripened into —

Into what?

There was no answer to that question. As it came before Alice Rody’s mind she evaded it, and strove calmly to consider Wacora as her captor.

But it soon seemed impossible to look upon him in this light.

No preux chevalier could be more courteous in his bearing – no prince more calmly conscious of his own birthright.

His was of the oldest patent. Whether thinking so or not, he was one of Nature’s noblemen.

A few months had wrought these marvellous changes in the personages of our tale, and upon Wacora’s sudden departure to the scene of war, both he and his captive felt a strange void in their hearts, unaccountable, because novel.

Nelatu, whose hope of winning the regard of the pale-faced maiden had sunk into a calm state of despair, departed with his cousin, hoping that in the field of battle he might find a still calmer rest.

His fate, wrapt in the dark mystery of the future, was veiled from him.

Chapter Thirty Five.

A Peaceful Warning

The summer had waned into autumn.

With the changing season came also a change over the hapless Indian maiden, Sansuta.

Her weakness, which had been continually increasing, was now so great that she could no longer stray with Alice to their favourite haunts.

The poor girl’s form had wasted away, and her features become shrunken. Her dark, lustrous eyes alone seemed to retain their vitality.

All her former violence had disappeared, and a change had also made itself manifest in her mental condition.

Now and then she had lucid moments of thought, during which she would shed torrents of tears on Alice’s shoulder, only with the return of her malady would she appear happy and at peace.

Towards sunset of a lovely day the two girls sat together at the door of Sansuta’s dwelling.

“See!” said the Indian girl, “the flowers are closing, the birds have gone into the deep forest. I have been expecting some one, but he has not come yet. Do you know who it is?”

“No, I do not.”

“’Tis Warren. Why do you start and tremble? He will not hurt you. Who was it you thought I meant?”

“I cannot tell, dear Sansuta.”

“No one but him – I think of him always, although,” she added lowering her voice to a whisper, “I dare not call his name. I’m afraid to do that. I’m afraid of my brother Nelatu and my cousin Wacora. Why does the sun look so fiery? It is the colour of blood – blood – blood! That red colour, is it on your hands, too? Ah, no! You are no murderer!”

“Hush, Sansuta! you are excited.”

“Ah, yonder sun! Do you know that I feel as if it were the last time I should ever see it set. See, there are dark lines across the sky – ribbed with bands of black clouds. It is the last day – the last day – ”

“I see nothing, only the approach of night.”

“But you hear something. Don’t you hear the spirits singing their death march over Oluski’s grave? He was my father – I hear it. It is a summons. It is for me. I must go.”

“Go? Where?”

“Far away. No; it is of no use clasping me to your heart. It is not Sansuta’s body that will leave you – it is her spirit. In the happy hunting grounds I shall meet with him – ”

A few moments after she became tranquil; but the lucid interval succeeded, and hot tears coursed down her hollow cheeks.