Kate, clad in buck-skin, Indian fashion, showed few traces of the terrible night-journey, but Virginia, although clad in stout homespun garments, had many a mark of bramble and brier; yet, to the eyes of Winthrop, she looked prettier than ever.
“And your wound?” asked Virginia, suddenly remembering her lover’s hurt.
“I scarcely feel it now,” Winthrop replied; “a few hours has worked wonders. The thought of your danger troubled me more than the pain of my wound.”
“And from that danger, Kate has saved me, although at the risk of her own life,” and Virginia cast a glance full of love and thankfulness toward the daughter of the renegade.
“I did what was but my duty to do. I promised to save you if I could. I kept that promise—”
“At the risk of your own life,” Virginia said, quickly.
“The life of the outcast is worth but little,” Kate replied, sadly.
“The life of my sister is as precious as my own!” Virginia exclaimed, earnestly, and rising, she knelt by Kate’s side and folded her arms around her.
“Your sister!” said Kate, in wonder.
“Yes; for henceforth you shall be my sister. Kate, you must forsake this wild life and make your home with me. Will you not do so?”