“I will not offend again,” murmured Virginia, the big tears beginning to well slowly from her lustrous brown eyes. “But I have such a terrible weight pressing upon my heart. I feel that I am utterly lost.”
“No, do not despair; there may still be a chance to escape from the toils that surround you.”
“Oh! show me some way to escape and I will go down on my knees and thank you!” cried Virginia Treveling, earnestly.
“I do not ask that,” said Kate, with a mournful expression in her dark eyes.
“But how is it that you are here in the Indian village? Are you a prisoner, too?” asked Virginia, suddenly.
“No,” replied Kate, her eyes seeking the ground.
“I cannot understand,” said Virginia, in wonder.
“Do you not remember who and what I am?” asked Kate, a tinge of bitterness perceptible in her tones. “Am I not Kate, the Queen of the Kanawha, the daughter of the pale-faced Indian, David Kendrick, the renegade?”
“Yes, yes, I remember now,” said Virginia: “I ask your pardon if my question has given you pain. I did not intend or think to wound you.”
“Do not fear. I have heard too many bitter speeches in my short life to be galled now by a chance word. I cannot be wounded by a random shot. I am the daughter of a renegade; all the world knows it. It would be useless to deny the truth. I must bear patiently the stain that my birth and my father’s deeds have fixed upon me. I cannot cast aside the shame that clings to me and through no act of mine. All the world despises me. Is it not enough to make me hate all the world?”