“And the young man that was with me?” Virginia asked, tremblingly. She wished to learn the truth, yet feared to.
“He was killed by the shot that struck him, fired by one of the Indians,” and Benton spoke what he believed to be the truth. He did not believe it possible that Winthrop could have survived his wound.
Virginia’s heart sunk within her at the fatal news. Her lover dead, she felt almost willing to die too.
“You remain here and I will go at once to Point Pleasant, find your father, tell him where you are, and then with a party strong enough to cope with the red-skins, he can come and rescue you.”
The plan was reasonable enough, and Virginia could find no fault with it, though she trembled to remain alone in the cabin while the woods around swarmed with hostile Indians.
“Suppose the savages should discover my retreat while you are absent?” Virginia asked.
“There is very little danger of that. All the Indians, with the exception of the party that captured you, have kept on the other side of the Kanawha. There is nothing to bring them on this side of the river. Keep within the shelter of the house. I will return by nightfall with your father and his friends.”
“Heaven will reward you, sir, I am sure, for this kindness to a helpless girl,” said Virginia, earnestly.
“I hope so,” replied Benton, with a grim smile upon his sallow face. Then he left the house, crossed the clearing, and disappeared in the thicket.
Virginia sunk upon her knees and poured out her heartfelt thanks to the Great Power that was, apparently, watching so carefully over her life, and had brought a stranger to rescue her from the terrible danger that had menaced her well-being.