"See here." The visitor put her hand in her bosom and drew forth a small dagger with a pearl hilt in which was set jewels. Jeanne shuddered, but remained on her knees, glancing up piteously.
"See here. I came to kill you. I said no French girl, be she beautiful as moonlight on the lake, shall marry Louis Marsac. He belongs to me. No woman shall be folded in his arms or lie on his breast or rejoice in the kisses of his mouth and live! I cannot understand. When one has tasted the sweetness—and he is so handsome, not so different from his mother's race but that I am a fit mate for him. My father was a chief, and there was a quarrel between him and a relative who claimed the right, and he was killed. Ah, you can never know how good and tender Louis was to me, so different from most of the clumsy Canadian traders; next, I think, to the great White Chief of the island; yes, handsomer, though not as large. All the winter and spring he loved me. And this cabin was mine. I came here many times. He loves me unless you have stolen his heart with some evil charm. Stand up; see. I am as tall as you. My skin is fine and clear, if not as pale as the white faces; and yours—pouf! you have no rose in your cheeks. Is not my mouth made for kisses? I like those that burn as fire running through your veins. And my hand—" she caught Jeanne's hand and compared them. "It is as slim and soft, and the pink is under the nails. And my hair is like a veil, reaching to my knees. Yes, I am a fitter mate than you, who are naught but a child, with no shape that fills a man with admiration. Is it that you have worked some evil charm?"
Jeanne's eyes were distended with horror. Now that death and escape were near she shrank with the fear of all young things who have known naught of life but its joy. She could not even beg, her tongue seemed paralyzed.
They would have made a statue worthy of a sculptor as they stood there, the Indian girl in her splendid attire and the utmost beauty of her race, with the dagger in one hand; and the girl, pale now as a snow wreath, at her feet.
"Would you go away, escape?" Some curious thoughts had flashed into Owaissa's brain.
"Oh, help me, help me! I will beg my way back to Detroit. I will pray that all his love may be given to you; morning and night I will pray on my knees. Oh, believe, believe!"
The Indian girl could not doubt her sincerity. But with the injustice of a passionate, jealous love she did not so much blame her recreant lover. Some charm, some art, must have been used, perhaps by a third person, and the girl be guiltless. And if she could send her away and remain in her stead—
She gave a soft, musical ripple of laughter. So pretty Minnehaha must have laughed when Longfellow caught the sound in his charmed brain. She put up her dagger. She raised Jeanne, wondering, but no longer afraid. This was the miracle she had prayed for and it had come to pass.
"Listen. You shall go. The night comes on and it is a long sail; but you will not be afraid. The White Chief will take you in, but when you tell your story say it was Indians who stole you. For if you bring any harm to Louis Marsac I will follow you and kill you even if it were leagues beyond sunset, in the wild land that no one has penetrated. Remember. Promise by the great Manitou. Kiss my hand;" and she held it out.
Jeanne obeyed. Could escape be so near? Her heart beats almost strangled her.