As Isaac entered the room a slender maiden ran impulsively to him and throwing her arms round his neck hid her face on his breast. A few broken, incoherent words escaped her lips. Isaac disengaged himself from the clinging arms and put her from him. The face raised to his was strikingly beautiful. Oval in shape, it was as white as his own, with a broad, low brow and regular features. The eyes were large and dark and they dilated and quickened with a thousand shadows of thought.
“Myeerah, I am taken again. This time there has been blood shed. The Delaware chief was killed, and I do not know how many more Indians. The chiefs are all for putting me to death. I am in great danger. Why could you not leave me in peace?”
At his first words the maiden sighed and turned sorrowfully and proudly away from the angry face of the young man. A short silence ensued.
“Then you are not glad to see Myeerah?” she said, in English. Her voice was music. It rang low, sweet, clear-toned as a bell.
“What has that to do with it? Under some circumstances I would be glad to see you. But to be dragged back here and perhaps murdered—no, I don’t welcome it. Look at this mark where Crow hit me,” said Isaac, passionately, bowing his head to enable her to see the bruise where the club had struck him.
“I am sorry,” said Myeerah, gently.
“I know that I am in great danger from the Delawares.”
“The daughter of Tarhe has saved your life before and will save it again.”
“They may kill me in spite of you.”
“They will not dare. Do not forget that I saved you from the Shawnees. What did my father say to you?”
“He assured me that he was my friend and that he would protect me from Wingenund. But I must marry you and become one of the tribe. I cannot do that. And that is why I am sure they will kill me.”
“You are angry now. I will tell you. Myeerah tried hard to win your love, and when you ran away from her she was proud for a long time. But there was no singing of birds, no music of the waters, no beauty in anything after you left her. Life became unbearable without you. Then Myeerah remembered that she was a daughter of kings. She summoned the bravest and greatest warriors of two tribes and said to them, ‘Go and bring to me the paleface, White Eagle. Bring him to me alive or dead. If alive, Myeerah will smile once more upon her warriors. If dead, she will look once upon his face and die.’ Ever since Myeerah was old enough to remember she has thought of you. Would you wish her to be inconstant, like the moon?”
“It is not what I wish you to be. It is that I cannot live always without seeing my people. I told you that a year ago.”
“You told me other things in that past time before you ran away. They were tender words that were sweet to the ear of the Indian maiden. Have you forgotten them?”
“I have not forgotten them. I am not without feeling. You do not understand. Since I have been home this last time I have realized more than ever that I could not live away from my home.”
“Is there any maiden in your old home whom you have learned to love more than Myeerah?”
He did not reply, but looked gloomily out of the opening in the wall. Myeerah had placed her hold upon his arm, and as he did not answer the hand tightened its grasp.
“She shall never have you.”
The low tones vibrated with intense feeling, with a deathless resolve. Isaac laughed bitterly and looked up at her. Myeerah’s face was pale and her eyes burned like fire.
“I should not be surprised if you gave me up to the Delawares,” said Isaac, coldly. “I am prepared for it, and I would not care very much. I have despaired of your ever becoming civilized enough to understand the misery of my sister and family. Why not let the Indians kill me?”
He knew how to wound her. A quick, shuddering cry broke from her lips. She stood before him with bowed head and wept. When she spoke again her voice was broken and pleading.
“You are cruel and unjust. Though Myeerah has Indian blood she is a white woman. She can feel as your people do. In your anger and bitterness you forget that Myeerah saved you from the knife of the Shawnees. You forget her tenderness; you forget that she nursed you when you were wounded. Myeerah has a heart to break. Has she not suffered? Is she not laughed at, scorned, called a ‘paleface’ by the other tribes? She thanks the Great Spirit for the Indian blood that keep her true. The white man changes his loves and his wives. That is not an Indian gift.”
“No, Myeerah, I did not say so. There is no other woman. It is that I am wretched and sick at heart. Do you not see that this will end in a tragedy some day? Can you not realize that we would be happier if you would let me go? If you love me you would not want to see me dead. If I do not marry you they will kill me; if I try to escape again they will kill me. Let me go free.”
“I cannot! I cannot!” she cried. “You have taught me many of the ways of your people, but you cannot change my nature.”
“Why cannot you free me?”
“I love you, and I will not live without
