There was the soft tread of moccasins on the grass, and before either could move, Tahmeroo, the Shawnee chief’s daughter, was standing before them.
Mary uttered an exclamation of joy and surprise; the Indian girl threw herself forward, as if to kneel at Mary’s feet, but the gentle girl stretched forth her arms and drew the young Indian to her bosom with a fervent embrace. The missionary stood silent and pale during that prolonged caress, his hand extended almost as if he would have repulsed the savage and forced Mary from her clinging arms.
“I began to think you would never return,” murmured the deformed, when the Indian girl raised her head; “I am so glad to see you once more!”
“Yes, it is many, many moons; but Tahmeroo has never forgotten the young pale face. Tahmeroo has great trouble, and she comes to you for help, to you and this good prophet,” she continued, turning toward the missionary.
“What can we do for you?” Mary asked.
“Much—the white medicine is very powerful; he will help me, and you, too, you will not send Tahmeroo away miserable, and without some hope of seeing her lord again.”
The missionary looked at her earnestly, and the stern pallor of his face softened. That short year had wrought a great change in the poor girl. The habitual brown of her cheek had given place to a sickly pallor, her temples were hollow and sunken, and her black eyes blazed with a strange brilliancy, which betrayed the consuming fever within. Her dress looked travel-stained, and there was a carelessness about her attire widely at variance with the picturesque neatness which had formerly characterized her.
The unrest of the heart was in her face, painful always to remark in the young, doubly painful when breaking through the wild beauty of that youthful savage. She understood the impression which her altered lineaments made upon her observers, and said, with a forced smile:
“Tahmeroo is a girl no longer; sorrow has forced the freshness out of her heart, as the thunder tempest beats the breath out of the wild rose.”
“What has happened to you?” questioned Mary. “Your mother, your noble mother?”