“Oh! it is so hard to keep back the joy that struggles to my lips,” murmured Virginia; “your presence here seems like a ray of sunlight beaming full upon the dark pathway through which runs the current of my life. Your face gives me life and hope.”
Kate gazed into the upturned face of the fair girl with a mournful smile.
“You are in great danger, lady,” she said, slowly.
“Oh, I know that!” cried Virginia, quickly. “I am a prisoner in the hands of the merciless red-men.”
“Yes, a prisoner in the hands of one who is more merciless than any painted savage that roams the valley of the Ohio. A man whose skin is white but whose heart is red,” said Kate, mournfully.
Virginia gazed at Kate in wonder.
“In Heaven’s name, of whom do you speak?” she asked.
“Of one to whom the hungry wolf is a lamb; of one who knows neither fear nor pity. A white Indian; an outcast from his country and his race.”
Virginia shuddered at the terrible words.
“A renegade?”