Kate did not reply aloud to Virginia’s speech, but to herself she murmured:
“Would this girl trust me if she knew how deeply I loved the man that possesses her heart?”
Kate led the way at a swift pace—not that she feared pursuit, for she did not dream that Virginia’s escape, and her own treachery toward the renegade Girty, would be discovered until the morning.
Virginia, both in her face and dress, showed visible traces of the peril that she had passed through.
Well was it for her that her gown was of stout homespun stuff, for many a thorn-bush laid hold of it in her quick passage through the wilderness.
“Where will you go first, to the station of Point Pleasant or to my cabin, where Harvey Winthrop is?” Kate asked.
“Is not your cabin some miles beyond the station?”
“Yes, but from the route I am obliged to take, my cabin is but a short distance further than the station.”
“Let us go there first, then,” said Virginia, eagerly. “Oh! the anguish I have suffered, thinking him dead,” and a cloud came over the fair face of the girl as she spoke.
Every word that Virginia spoke in reference to Winthrop, touched Kate to the quick, for she saw how deeply and truthfully she loved him. Then she realized, too, how hopeless was the passion that burned so fiercely in her own bosom. But, neither by word or sign, did she betray that love to Virginia.