Tahmeroo fell forward with a low moan, and lay upon the floor writhing in silent anguish. Even the chief’s dark face softened, and though nothing enraged Queen Esther so violently as any display of weakness, she spoke no word of chiding, but raised the girl and placed her on a seat.
“Where—where?” gasped Tahmeroo, as soon as she could speak.
“In Albany—there he has been for months, confined in jail under sentence of death.”
“Save him, oh, save him!” pleaded Tahmeroo. “You are a great warrior, my father; you will save him! Grand-dame—queen—bring back Tahmeroo’s husband or let her die, now.”
“If he is killed, we will avenge him!” hissed Esther, clutching the hilt of the hunting-knife which she wore in her girdle. “Look up, Tahmeroo, we will have blood for blood!”
“That will not give him back to me,” said Tahmeroo, shuddering; “blood, always blood—I am sick of vengeance—I want my husband.”
“We can do nothing,” Esther replied; “nothing yet—Tahmeroo must be patient; she knows that the young chief is true to her.”
“Who dared think otherwise?” exclaimed Tahmeroo, with passionate defiance. “Let all beware—Tahmeroo can revenge also, not herself, but her husband. I must find him,” she continued, shrinking again into her womanly weakness; “he shall be set at liberty. Father, father, is there no way?”
“Let Tahmeroo leave us for a while,” said Esther; “the chief cannot counsel with children.”
“But you will free him—you are very powerful?”